


Make This Place Beautiful

by Thebonemoose



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Dad! Jon, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Hurt and comfort, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Parent Fic, family fic, single parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:42:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24198421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thebonemoose/pseuds/Thebonemoose
Summary: Jon was not a stranger to death.He was an orphan raised by his elderly grandmother, he’d been to more funerals than he had weddings.Death… death was undiscerning. Objective. First you were alive, and then you were not.Simple.Humans were the ones who made it messy, with their mourning and their loud, heavy grief. Burials and ceremonies and calla lilies.Sometimes, Jon wished it was just a matter of putting a body in the dirt and being done with it.The last funeral he had been to was his grandmother’s. She was seventy nine. She died peacefully, in her sleep. And she would have hated that.Jon glanced down to the child sleeping beside him. Willa Briar. His first cousin, once removed.This was her mother’s funeral.Jon adopts the daughter of his late cousin. This is complicated by the simple truth that he has no idea how to be a parent.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims & Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Jonathan Sims & Georgie Barker, Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood
Comments: 558
Kudos: 824





	1. I'm Out of My Element

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyy. I'm back. It's only been like 5 days, but whatever, who's counting?
> 
> Soooo…. A bit of a psa here, chapter one and probably several of the other chapters will speak pretty frankly of death (it’s a pretty central topic at the start of the fic) so if that’s not your jam or if that is going to be in any way detrimental to your mental health, maybe skip this fic. That being said, it will get a bit lighter, and although there will be a fair amount of angst, it’ll all be okay at the end, I promise :)
> 
> Also if any of the plot-relevant policy type information is incorrect or illegal…. Whoops. Don’t @ me I am an idiot. All i know is be bisexual, twerk, eat hot chip and lie.  
> ~~~suspend your disbelief~~~
> 
> The title of the fic comes from Maggie Smith’s poem “Good Bones” which is an incredible poem, it’s short and iconic and I recommend you read it.

_I'm out of my element  
I can't breathe_  
(How to Embrace a Swamp Creature-- The Mountain Goats)

Jon was not a stranger to death. 

He was an orphan raised by his elderly grandmother, he’d been to more funerals than he had weddings. 

Death… death was undiscerning. Objective. First you were alive, and then you were not. 

Simple. 

Humans were the ones who made it messy, with their mourning and their loud, heavy grief. Burials and ceremonies and calla lilies. 

Sometimes, Jon wished it was just a matter of putting a body in the dirt and being done with it. 

The last funeral he had been to was his grandmother’s. She was seventy nine. She died peacefully, in her sleep. And she would have hated that. 

He had worn a black suit that was a size too small, and taken his girlfriend. He didn’t recognize the other mourners, didn’t even know the man who had given the eulogy. Georgie had squeezed his hand, and when they went back to her flat after, Jon had cried. Not because he was mourning, but because he was frustrated at the woman who raised him, and who failed him. So Georgie held him as hot, salty tears of anger splashed onto his tiny, itchy suit, and he shouted and sobbed, and afterwards he only felt empty. Empty, but just as heavy with the weight of death as he had when he first got the call that his grandmother had passed.

Georgie was good with death. Ever since Jon had known her, she had been good with death. He wished she could be here with him, squeezing his hand through the eulogy. She would know what to do. 

Jon glanced down to the child sleeping beside him. Willa Briar. His first cousin, once removed. 

This was her mother’s funeral. 

The body of a woman Jon had never met lay in the casket two meters from him. A body that had been dressed and embalmed, made suitable for viewing. 

And now Jon had to carry this dead woman’s toddler, and present the body to her. 

He was having trouble wrapping his head around it all. 

Cognitively, he knew how this had happened. 

Social Care contacted him.

They informed him that he had a cousin on his mother’s side that he had not known about. She had been an orphan, too. 

This dead cousin had a daughter. 

The mother, for whatever reason, had seen fit to name Jon as a potential guardian for her daughter. Bafflingly. Without knowing anything about him.  
(That wasn’t entirely true.)  
Simone Briar, Jonathan’s cousin, had lung cancer. She was dying.  
She was also very interested in genealogy, and had tracked down all her living relatives. The closest among them was Jon.  
Jon gathered that she had intended to reach out to him, but her cancer began progressing rapidly, and she spent her last remaining weeks making arrangements for her daughter. 

Social Care gave Jon a letter written by Simone Briar. A letter addressed to him, regarding Willa Briar.  
A letter that Jon had surely read a thousand times by now. A letter he could recite almost by heart. A letter in which she stated:  
A basic rundown of her life  
Everything she knew of Willa’s father, a French man who had died when Simone was pregnant with Willa  
Her lifelong interest in family lines and genealogy  
That she had tracked Jon down, found out everything she could about him (based on what was online, or what was public knowledge)  
That even though it sounded “hoky,” she felt connected to him. Given her bleak prognosis, she needed to find a suitable guardian for Willa. And she had been in the foster care system for eighteen years. She did not want that for her daughter.  
She wrote that while she knew Jon did not sign up to be a parent, she hoped he would at least consider it. If he chose not to she wouldn’t blame him, and she understood completely. But she at least wanted him to meet Willa.  
He met Willa. 

_Please, Jonathan, at least meet her. Then decide. I don’t mean to pressure or guilt you, but if nothing else, at least meet her._

_You’re all she has._

He agreed to be Willa’s guardian. 

The next several hours were filled with paperwork and oaths and settling estate issues. It was overwhelming and exhausting. 

And then they deposited Willa in his arms, and she had screeched her tiny head off, calling for a mother who could not come. 

A parade of faceless officials had informed him when Simone’s funeral was, when Willa’s clothes and toys and other items would be dropped off at Jon’s house, and that next week Jon would be allowed to pick Willa up and take her home with him, pending a home inspection by a Social Care worker. 

Jon nodded, halfway absorbing the information, and finally, he was able to go home. He collapsed into his bed, still clothed, and fell into a deep sleep. 

The social worker came, approved of his home, and Jon took her home. Most of her toys and clothes were in boxes, but she also had some in two small, pink suitcases. She still slept in a crib, which Jon spent a frustrating few hours assembling, and finally, a space in his room was set up for her. 

That first night, she cried for hours. 

And now, here they were: Jon holding Willa above her mother’s body, a peaceful expression on her face. 

Willa looked down at her mother, and her lower lip started trembling. 

_Oh, no, please not now._

“Mummy?” she asked, and then the floodgates opened, and Willa’s mournful shrieks pierced the silence of the church. 

Jon felt his stomach drop. He carried Willa out of the chapel and into a hallway, and Willa kept stretching back the entire time, trying to see her mother again. 

“Mummy! Want Mummy!” she cried, and Jon let out a shaky breath. He shifted Willa and sat down on the ground, then placed her in his lap, facing him. 

“I know you want your mum, Willa,” Jon said gently. 

Willa looked at him and sniffled. “Mummy sleeping?” 

Jon shook his head. “I’m afraid not, Willa. Mummy… Mummy’s dead.”

Willa frowned. “Mummy dead?”

Jon nodded. 

“What’s dead?”

Jon wanted to bury his head in his hands. “Dead is… When you’re not alive. It’s like being asleep forever. For years and years and you don’t wake up.”

“Oh.” Willa looked confused. “Mummy hurt?”

Jon sighed. “No… not anymore. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Mummy happy?” Willa asked, her eyes welling up with tears again. Jon held her close to his chest. 

“I… I don’t know. But I think she misses you very much,” he said softly. 

She picked her head up from his chest. “Go see Mummy?”

He nodded. “Sure. We can go see Mummy.” He stood and shifted her so Willa was positioned against his hip, and then they walked back into the chapel. Most of the funeral-goers had left, so Jon walked straight up to the casket. 

Willa leaned down a bit, peering into her mother’s face. The mortician had done a good job. She didn’t look alive, but she looked… at rest, he supposed. 

“Mummy dead,” Willa stated, pointing to Simone’s body. 

“Yes. She is,” Jon replied. 

Willa kept looking, her face unreadable. “Kiss!” she said, turning to Jon and pointing to her mother again. 

Jon was not sure if touching an embalmed body was safe, but he didn’t want to deny Willa her wish. “How about we blow a kiss?” Jon suggested. 

Willa frowned. 

“Like this,” Jon said, and demonstrated blowing a kiss. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

Jon and Willa blew Simone a kiss. 

Simone did not move, because she was a corpse. 

“Bye-bye, Mummy,” Willa said, waving her hand.

“Bye, Mummy,” Jon echoed, for Willa’s benefit. They left the chapel and returned to Jon’s beat up car in the parking lot. 

“Mummy stay here?” Willa asked as Jon buckled her into her car seat. 

Jon shook his head. “No, they’ll take the casket with your mum inside, and they’ll bury it in a graveyard. She’ll be in the ground after that.”

“Mummy go in the ground?”

Jon buckled his own seat belt and started the car. “Yes, she’ll go in the ground.”

“Go see?”

“Sure, we can go see her after they do it.”

Willa was quiet after that, and Jon was glad for the opportunity to process the day. It had been taxing; in more ways than one. 

He and Willa got home, and they had a small dinner. She went to bed not long after, and Jon decided to catch up on some work after taking that week and the next week off. 

The first email in his inbox was from the company that owned his building. They had sold the building. The next email was from the new owners, informing all current tenants that they would need to vacate in the next thirty days, regardless of lease agreements. 

Jon’s heart sank. His instinct was that this could not possibly be legal, but several google searches confirmed that yes, it was, and there was nothing Jon could do. Jon massaged his temples in hopes of staving away the migraine that was threatening to develop.

The next day was not much better. Willa had not entirely grasped what ‘dead’ meant yet, and began wailing and crying so desperately for Simone that Jon’s heart broke right then and there. All he could do was hold her and try to comfort her. This was not easy to do when the child you were holding was flailing and sobbing, wanting you to be anyone but who you are.

Willa had cycles to her crying; she would wail until she was too tired, and then she would fall into a fitful sleep. Then she would wake, and Jon would try to get her to eat something, but she wouldn’t accept anything, and she would cry harder. 

On one such situation, she had somehow managed to knock a cup of juice over onto Jon’s basket of clean laundry. Jon put her in her high chair and cleaned the mess as well as he could, but most of the laundry was unsalvageable without a second wash. Which was unfortunate, because Jon had nothing clean left now. 

Jon grabbed a snack for Willa and put her coat on her. Then he put her in her pram and stuffed his dirty laundry in a large backpack. 

They made their way into the elevator and down to the level with the laundromat in it. Jon was silently rejoicing that at least this one thing had gone alright, but then he saw the sign on the door. 

The laundromat was closed.

Jon nearly cried. The nearest laundromat was in walking distance, and it was in a well-lit, safe area, so Jon wasn’t afraid to use it, except that the duration of a load of laundry was probably a long time for Willa to be out in public, if she was still processing her mother’s death. 

He sighed. He didn’t really have any other options. He pushed the pram out of the building and began walking to the laundromat. Thankfully, Willa was preoccupied with the sights around her, and did not seem inclined to cry for the time being. 

Something about the white noise of the laundromat must have soothed Willa, because she fell asleep while Jon’s clothes were in the wash. He sat on one of the hard plastic chairs and gently pushed Willa’s pram back and forth with his foot, his head in one hand. 

Jon didn’t think he’d ever been this tired before in his life. Many of the other customers of the laundromat had left, and no one else had entered, so the building felt empty and lifeless, in spite of the dull rumble of the machines. 

The door dinged, and Jon glanced over to see Basira, who had started talking to the employee. The employee handed her a garment bag, and Basira nodded, and turned to leave, but she caught sight of Jon. 

He probably looked awful; sleep deprived, half-covered in spilled juice. He hadn’t showered since yesterday. 

Basira’s eyebrows raised as she took in the sleeping toddler before her. She stepped towards him and nodded. “Hey, Jon,” she said casually. 

“Hello, Basira,” Jon said, trying his best to sound like a person. 

“Are you… babysitting?” she asked, taking a seat beside him. 

He shook his head vacantly. “She’s mine.”

Basira’s eyes widened. “Oh! Wow, I had no idea you--”

Jon’s words caught up to him. “Oh, god, no, not like that,” he rushed to clarify. “She’s my cousin’s daughter. And my cousin is dead. So I’m her guardian.”

Basira’s expression changed. “Oh, Jon, I’m so sorry,” she said, genuine.

Jon’s desperate heart grabbed hold of every tiny sliver of kindness he was given. “Thank you,” he told her. “I don’t--” he laughed mirthlessly, a tired, strained sound. “I don’t have any idea what I’m doing, Basira,” he said, and his head lolled back against the chair. 

She patted his shoulder a bit awkwardly.

“I mean-- I don’t know the first thing about raising children! I was an orphan, Basira. I was raised by a grandmother who tried her best but ultimately could not prevent me from being screwed up. I can barely care for myself most days, why on earth did I think I could take care of a child?! I’m going to ruin her life, Basira!”

Basira put her hand out placatingly. “Whoa, Jon, take a breath--”

“And then! AND THEN! I get this stupid FUCKING email, telling me I need to vacate my flat in ten days, I-- where am I supposed to go? We’re homeless, Basira! We’re homeless, and Willa still does not entirely understand that her mother is _never coming back._ ”

Basira stared at him, her eyes wide. Jon slumped over in his seat and exhaled. 

Willa was still sleeping. Thank heaven for small mercies. 

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Basira said after a moment. “That really, really sucks.” 

Jon nodded. “It does.”

“Is there… Is there anything I can do?” she asked. 

Jon chuckled. “No. But thank you, Basira. It was kind of you to ask. Sorry, for…” Jon gestured to himself and the laundromat at large.

Basira shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. You’re doing the best you can.” She stood and gave his shoulder one last comforting squeeze. “I’ll see you around, Jon. Let me know if you need anything,” she said smiling kindly. 

Then she left, and Jon swallowed. Basira hadn’t done anything to solve his problems. But sitting there and listening to him nearly cry in frustration had made Jon feel just the tiniest bit better. 

He collected his laundry, and he and Willa went home. 

Basira called him, a few days later. “Do you still need a place to live?”

Jon’s brain took a moment to catch up. “W...what?”

“Look, I felt bad for you. That’s a rough spot to be in even without a kid... Full disclosure, I may have meddled and asked around on your behalf. I have a friend who’s got room available for you and your girl, if you want it,” Basira said. 

Jon was cautiously interested. “A...friend?”

“Ex-cop. She was my partner. She’s not… warm and cuddly, but she’s… you’ll see.”

Jon sighed. “That doesn’t inspire confidence, Basira.”

Jon could almost hear Basira’s eyes rolling. “Look, I trust her, and she’s safe to be around children.”

It wasn’t like he had any other options. “Well… alright.”

“Alright? You want to meet her?” 

Jon exhaled. “Yes.”

“Great, I’ll text you the details, then.”

“Thank you, Basira. Even if it doesn’t work out…Thank you.” 

“No problem, Jon. I always was too nosy for my own good,” Basira said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “Goodbye, Jon.”

The call ended.


	2. Wherever I'm With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon catches a break, and meets with Basira's friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you weren't expecting an update this soon! Surprise! I have no idea if I can keep this posting schedule up so it's probably best if you keep your hopes... down. 
> 
> Re: the contents of this chapter--  
> I know this isn't ACTUALLY how paternity leave works but you know what?? shhhhh. It's okay. Don't worry about it.

_Home, let me come home_  
Home is wherever I'm with you  
(Home-- Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes)

At least there was one good thing that had happened to Jon recently. 

After spending a few hours combing through the Magnus Institute policy handbook, Jon discovered that he could go on paternity leave, even though the child in question was not a newborn, nor was she his biological offspring. Because he was a single parent, he could take more than just the standard three weeks for fathers. 

He emailed Elias to say he was taking paternity leave, and did not bother to spell check or proofread before sending the email. 

He received a curt confirmation, along with what he imagined to be a very bewildered “Congratulations.”

He emailed Tim, Sasha, and Martin next, and told them he was taking a leave of absence and would be back in a month or two. He also made sure to add that they were free to contact him for questions or concerns regarding work, and that he would do his best to reply in a timely manner. 

He received one very professional response (Sasha), one semi-professional response (Tim), and… a reply that was riddled with smiley faces, from Martin. 

“He’s an idiot,” Jon told Willa, who was eating a banana. 

“Idiot,” she said, and Jon frowned. He should probably use more… child-appropriate language. 

“Er… Pretend I didn’t say that.”

“Idiot.”

Jon sighed. “Shit.”

“Shit!” Willa cried happily. 

Jon put his head in his palms. 

Basira had texted him the details of his meeting with her friend, Daisy. Jon was nervous. 

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was nervous, but he was. Willa did not seem to mind, judging by the way she was happily drinking apple juice in the pram and looking at the unfamiliar hallway. Jon sighed, and knocked on the door. 

It opened a moment later, and behind it stood a pale woman, taller than Jon. She had cropped, dusty blonde hair and an intense gaze. There were scars on her face, and a scowl that Jon assumed was permanent. 

“Hello,” she said easily. 

Jon stuck his hand out and introduced himself. 

Daisy invited them in.

The interior of the flat seemed at odds with how Daisy presented herself. Jon would assume, based solely on his first impression of the woman, that the flat would have a gruff, perhaps lumberjack-esque aesthetic.

That was not the case.

The flat was decorated neatly, with sheer floral curtains at the windows. The sofas were plush and comfortable, and there were several embroidery hoops hung on the walls, each depicting an intricate and well-made scene.

“Those are spectacular,” Jon said, looking at a hoop. “Did you make this?” He asked.

Daisy just nodded silently, her arms crossed. “Would you like some tea?” She asked, her tone not particularly inviting. 

Jon agreed, and she motioned for him to have a seat on the couch while she made them tea. When it was ready, she handed it to him in a tea cup and saucer with yellow flowers painted on. 

Jon got the distinct impression that flowers may be a running theme with Daisy.

Willa started squirming, then, no longer occupied by the new scenery. Jon removed her from her pram and sat her in his lap. Her eyes were glued to Daisy.

Daisy made eye contact with Willa, and growled playfully, her eyes bright.

Willa shrieked and giggled, leaning away from Daisy without breaking eye contact.

“Would… you like to hold her?” Jon offered, and Daisy looked up.

Whatever bravado she had been putting forth seemed to fall away, just for a second, and she looked vulnerable. Still, she glanced back to Willa, and nodded.

Jon extricated his hands from Willa’s grasp and allowed her to walk cautiously over to Daisy. Daisy sat back and smiled invitingly, which was apparently enough to assuage any fears Willa might have had. 

Willa plopped down in Daisy’s lap, and took a special interest in the various types of scars that covered Daisy’s arms.

“What's that?” Willa asked, tracing a silver line along Daisy’s bicep. 

Daisy glanced at Jon, who shrugged, and nodded. Willa would be fine hearing about a few injuries.

“That’s from when I got hurt.” 

“Got a booboo?” 

“Yes, Willa.”

Willa pressed a kiss to the scar, and looked at Daisy. “All better?” She asked.

Jon could pinpoint the exact moment that Daisy melted. “Yes, Willa. Thank you. I’m all better now,” Daisy replied, and Jon knew that look on her face.

It was a face he’d seen many times in the mirror. The one that was hopelessly endeared by something Willa had done, yet again. 

Daisy and Jon got down to business, after a brief recovery from how cute that was. She told him what she paid, what the features of the flat were. Then she stood, and took him on a tour, Willa still held in her arms. 

The room that would be Jon’s bedroom was fairly spacious, with enough room for Willa’s crib. Jon’s only concern was when Willa got older and moved to a bed. 

“You know, Jon, I do have a third room. I keep it as mostly storage, but I think,” she said, grinning at Willa, “I could be persuaded to downsize for a certain little lady.” Daisy poked Willa, and Willa giggled.

Daisy showed them the storage room. It was filled with various sundry items and boxes, but it was a good size, and Jon could easily imagine it becoming Willa’s room. 

“What do you think?” Daisy asked casually. 

Jon smiled. “I think I’d like to get started on the paperwork,” he said, and Daisy smiled.

Jon spent the next week and a half packing all of his and Willa’s things. Daisy and Basira offered to help him move in, which he accepted instantly. 

Willa continued to warm up to him, meanwhile. She was still occasionally confused about her mum, but she stopped crying for her all the time. She began to trust Jon more and more, especially since he began spending time playing with her or teaching her words. 

On the day of the move-in, Basira and Daisy knocked on his door, and they all got straight to work. 

“You cleaning?” Willa asked, holding a plastic cup. She was looking at Daisy and Basira, carrying boxes out. 

“Yes, we’re going to live with Daisy, now,” Jon reminded. 

“Okay,” Willa replied, and sat down. 

Jon chuckled. Basira came back up, and Jon directed her to the next bunch of boxes to take. Daisy’s truck was soon full, so Daisy drove it back to her place and began unloading. Basira kept filling Jon’s car with boxes. 

They continued to make trips over the next several hours, and pretty soon all of Jon’s stuff was stacked in Daisy’s living room. 

“Alright, what do you need from us now?” Basira asked. 

Jon scrubbed a hand over his face. “Um, let's see. Tomorrow I need to clean the flat and find someone to give my sofa to, I need to give my keys back, and I think that’s it.” 

“I can take the sofas,” Basira offered.

“Really? You don’t mind?” Jon asked. She shrugged. 

“Daisy and I can load them and bring them to mine right now, unless you need anything else from us at the moment,” she answered.

“No, not at all. Thank you, Basira,” he said, and handed her his keys. She and Daisy left, and Jon got Willa a snack, then set to work unpacking. 

He set his bed frame and mattress up in his room, and reassembled Willa’s crib easily enough. After his room was in a semi-serviceable state, Jon put all the kitchen boxes on that side of the flat, and set about tackling his books.

There were, honestly, probably way too many of them, but Jon did not want to try and downsize at the moment. He unpacked his favorites and put the rest in Daisy’s storage room. 

Daisy and Basira came back then, both looking tired but satisfied.

“How’s the unpacking?” Basira asked, holding a cup of water. 

“Good,” Jon answered. “Though, Daisy, I’m not sure what we should do with all my dishes.”

Daisy shrugged. “Just unpack Willa’s stuff and whatever else you want to use everyday, you can use mine for the rest, I don’t care.” 

Jon nodded, and began sorting through.

“Is Willa’s stuff all unpacked?” Basira asked, crouching down and smiling at Willa.

Willa reached up and felt her hijab. “That’s your hair?” she asked curiously.

Basira laughed. “No, my hair is underneath,” she clarified. 

“Why?”

Jon grimaced, and Basira laughed at him. “Relax, Jon. Well,” she said to Willa. “This is called a hijab. Lots of people wear them for different reasons, but I wear it because it’s how I grew up, and I want to honor my culture.” 

Willa’s eyes were wide, and Jon was 98% certain Willa did not comprehend a single word of Basira’s sentence.

“I wear it because I want to,” Basira amended.

Willa reached out, and Jon kneeled beside her. “Remember, don’t pull, okay Willa? Gently,” he reminded her.

Willa nodded, and felt the fabric of Basira’s hijab. Basira smiled at her.

“Are you three going to continue having sweet moments in the living room or are you going to help me?” Daisy asked from the kitchen, in a tone Jon was fairly confident was teasing.

Jon stood and returned to the kitchen. He glanced back at Basira and Willa, who were now playing quietly with Willa’s toy blocks. 

They managed to get everything most pressing done before bedtime, and Jon felt thoroughly exhausted by the time Willa was down for the night. He slumped on the couch and rolled his head back.

“Would you like some wine, Jon?” Daisy asked.

“God, yes,” Jon said, and Daisy snickered. 

“Red or white?”

“Hm… white.”

Daisy brought him a glass and sat on the other sofa. “Sláinte,” she said. 

“Thank you, Daisy,” he said quietly. “Not— not just for the wine but, this— helping Willa and I—“ he broke off, frustrated. 

“‘S alright, Jon,” Daisy said simply. She drank her wine.

Jon sighed. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there,” he admitted.

“Good thing I was, then,” she replied easily.

Jon chuckled. “Yes. It is.”

“You’re cleaning your old flat tomorrow?” 

Jon nodded. 

“Do you want me to come and make sure Willa’s not underfoot the entire time?” She offered, and Jon froze. He hadn’t even considered what Willa would do when he was cleaning.

“Er— that would be lovely,” he said. 

She shrugged, and continued drinking her wine in silence. 

Jon sipped, and let himself relax for the first time in nearly a month. Willa was growing accustomed to him. Two people he barely knew had helped him move without asking anything in return. He felt… optimistic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I don’t wear a hijab, but if you do and find anything I said inaccurate, please let me know and I’ll be happy to change it/remove it! 
> 
> Comments and kudos are nice and I love them, thank you all for reading, and i hope y'all stay safe out there <3


	3. Are You Afraid, Cause I'm Terrified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon returns to work.

_Are you afraid? 'Cause I'm terrified  
But you remind me that it's such a wonderful thing to love_  
(Patricia-- Florence + The Machine)

Jon decided to go back to work early. He still had two weeks left on his paternity leave, but he was getting agitated; he wanted to have something to do besides stay at home all day. 

He carted Willa and her assorted necessities to his car, and drove to the Institute. Willa typically fell asleep on car rides, which Jon was constantly thankful for. He was able to get her all the way to the daycare center at the Institute before she woke up. 

As soon as he tried to pass her off to the daycare workers, though, she began wailing. _Right._ He had hoped that wouldn’t be an issue. The daycare worker seemed to be waiting for him to make a decision-- to choose if he would leave Willa there or take her with him for the day. She kept bawling, and Jon knew he wouldn’t be able to leave her, not when she was like this. 

Jon explained to the worker that Willa had separation anxiety, so she would be coming with him. The daycare worker did not seem fazed, and smiled kindly. 

Jon sighed and took a few moments to soothe Willa until she was calm. Then he took her to the Archive. 

The heavy wooden doors of the Archive were a bit tricky to open while holding a sniffling child, but Jon eventually managed. He walked to his office and deposited her nappy bag on his desk. His office was dusty, unsurprisingly, and Jon sighed. 

He continued holding Willa as he tidied up a bit, and when he was satisfied, he walked to the breakroom to make himself some tea. 

Before he got there, though, he ran into Sasha, perusing a file as she walked. She heard his footsteps and glanced up, then her eyes widened. “Jon, you’re back!” she exclaimed, then her eyes fell on Willa. “Whoa.”

“Hello, Sasha,” Jon greeted, and decided not to address the child-sized elephant in the room. He continued to the breakroom, and he soon heard the footsteps of his coworkers just outside the entrance. 

He stirred milk into his tea and waited. 

“Hey, Jon!” Tim said first. Jon did not turn around. 

“H-hey, welcome back!” Martin said, a bit softer.

“Hello Tim, Martin,” Jon said easily. 

Nobody spoke for a moment. 

Tim, Sasha, and Martin shuffled closer. 

“How was your leave?” Sasha asked politely.

“Oh, it was fine,” Jon replied. “I have a roommate, now.”

“I can see that,” Tim remarked, and based on the ensuing _thud, “Ow!”_ Sasha elbowed him.

“Oh, right. I guess I have two roommates, now,” Jon added, and took a sip of tea to hide his smile. 

None of his assistants spoke for a second. 

Tim broke first, naturally. “Okay, I can’t. Did you get _married_?! Whose baby is this?”

“No. And mine.”

“You’re not just… babysitting for a friend?” Martin asked, looking a bit unsteady on his feet. 

“No,” Jon replied. 

“So.... Can I ask why you have a baby now?” Sasha asked, letting her perfect professionalism slip away for a moment. 

“Willa was my cousin’s daughter. My cousin passed away recently, and I became Willa’s guardian,” Jon answered casually. 

Tim, Sasha, and Martin all wore matching contrite expressions. 

Jon chuckled slightly. “It’s all right, I… I never knew she existed until she died.”

“Mummy died,” Willa chimed in helpfully. Tim squawked. 

Jon nodded. “Yes, Willa, that’s correct.” 

“We go see her?” Willa asked, looking at Jon.

“Sure. We can go to the cemetery later today, how does that sound?” Jon asked, and Willa nodded. “Would you like to meet my coworkers, Willa?” Jon asked, pointing towards Tim, Sasha, and Martin. 

Willa seemed mildly interested. 

Jon brought Willa closer and pointed to Martin. “This is Martin. Say ‘hi, Martin,’” Jon said, and Willa waved. 

“Hi, Martin,” Willa said, although it came out a bit like ‘Maw-tin.’

Jon pointed to Sasha. “This is Sasha.”

“Hi, Sasha,” Willa said, waving again. 

Sasha waved back. “Hi, Willa.”

“And this is Tim.”

“Hi, Tim!” Willa said, smiling now. 

Tim put his palms flat together in front of his face. “Oh my god.”

“Should we go get some work done, Willa?” Jon asked, and she nodded. 

Jon grabbed his tea and began to walk out, but Tim stopped him. 

“Wait!” he said. “Are you going to read statements?” 

Jon nodded. 

“Isn’t that a bit… you know…”

Jon raised an eyebrow. 

“...Spooky?” Tim grimaced. 

“Right!” Sasha stepped in. “I mean, it’s not exactly suitable for kids, is it?” she asked innocently. 

“Buuuut,” Tim said, moving closer to Sasha and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “We could… you know, watch her for you… just until you’re done with your statement.” Tim and Sasha grinned. 

Martin was staring at them with his brows furrowed. 

“Do either of you even have experience with kids?” Jon asked skeptically. 

Tim snorted. “Do you?” he snarked, and Sasha stepped on his foot. 

“Er, I do,” said Martin. 

Sasha and Tim turned around to face Martin. 

“How much?” Jon asked. 

Martin shrugged. “I used to babysit two kids from the time they were three to the time they were eight,” he answered. 

That was sufficient. Jon side-stepped Sasha and Tim and deposited Willa into Martin’s arms. 

She looked back at him tearfully, her face a mask of betrayal. 

“She has separation anxiety,” Jon explained. “That’s why I have her with me instead of daycare in the first place.”

Martin nodded understandingly. Willa reached out her hands to Jon, who held them, but did not take her from Martin. 

“Now, Willa, I have to go do something, alright? But I’ll be back very soon, I promise. Until then, you’re going to stay with Martin, okay?”

Willa sniffled.

“He’s very nice, he’ll take good care of you,” Jon said to Willa, and leaned in to press a kiss to her curly hair. “Thank you, Martin, “ Jon said, patting Martin’s elbow. Martin just nodded, his eyes wide. 

Jon took his tea and recorded his statement as quickly as he could. Willa was the one with separation anxiety, but that didn’t mean Jon felt good about being apart from her, either. He sighed. She would be okay for just a few minutes more. 

The minutes passed painfully slowly, but Jon finally finished. He tried not to rush to Martin’s desk, but the slowest he could manage was a somewhat-frantic speedwalk. 

He needn’t have worried, though. Martin was more than qualified to care for Willa. They were sitting at Martin’s desk, and Willa was scribbling with a pencil while Martin complimented her ‘art’.

Relief flooded Jon’s chest. Willa got sight of him, and her entire face lit up. Martin wordlessly lifted her up, and Jon stepped forward and took her. Tim and Sasha watched the whole exchange with identical grins. 

“Thank you, Martin,” Jon said, and Martin shrugged and smiled. 

“It was no trouble. She’s a sweetheart,” he said. 

Jon nodded and kissed Willa’s hair. “She is,” he agreed. 

Jon and Willa kept working on her separation anxiety. It felt slow going at times, but Jon was diligent. Daisy was helpful, offering to stay with Willa when Jon needed to run a short errand. Each time Jon left, he always promised Willa he would be back. 

She gradually got more comfortable at work, too. When Jon needed to record a statement, Tim or Sasha or Martin would play with her, or take her on a walk around the Institute. She liked sitting on Tim’s shoulders, because he was the tallest. 

Martin was her favorite to cuddle with, judging by the way she always seemed to fall asleep curled up on his lap or in his arms. If she was resisting Jon at nap time, he just passed her off to Martin, who would have her dozing in five minutes.

Willa had a special interest in Sasha, though. Jon assumed it was because of her hair. The first time Sasha held Willa, she spent the entire time staring at Sasha’s locs, and feeling the texture in her hands. Apparently, Jon’s lesson about not pulling had stuck with her, because she never tugged, just traced her fingers along the hair. 

Needless to say, not a whole lot of actual work got done when Willa was in the Archive. 

Jon and Willa were eating lunch one day when Tim came into the breakroom. He grabbed a mug and began making tea. “You know,” he said, after a few minutes. “If you ever need any of us to babysit when we’re not at work, we could do that, too.”

Jon frowned. “What would you do that for?” he asked, confused. 

Tim chuckled. “I don’t know, because we’re your friends, maybe?” he said good-naturedly. 

Something in Jon felt light and heavy at the same time. “Oh.” he said dumbly. He felt a bit shocked at having gone from a person with no friends to a person with five friends. 

A few days later, Jon and Willa decided to try daycare again. She was reluctant for him to leave, as always, but he was able to go with minimal tears. 

“I’ll be back,” he promised. 

Jon returned to the Archive to continue with his work, but his mind was occupied with anxieties about Willa. He resolved to check on her during his lunch break. 

“How are you holding up?” Martin asked kindly, when he brought Jon some tea. 

“I’m… fine,” Jon replied. 

Martin did not seem entirely convinced. 

“I’m...nervous,” Jon admitted, his eyes cast down. 

“She’ll be okay, Jon,” Martin said. 

Jon nodded. Martin was right, of course. But it was still nerve-wracking. “Thank you for the tea,” Jon said in lieu of a reply, and Martin nodded. 

Lunchtime finally came, and Jon wasted no time in walking as fast as was publicly allowed until he arrived at the daycare center. Willa was elated to see him. 

“She did well,” the daycare worker said. “She only cried a few times.”

Jon thanked the worker, and took her back to the Archive breakroom. 

“There’s our little trooper!” Tim said when he and Willa came in. He and Sasha applauded.

“They told me she did well,” Jon said, and could not hide the pride in his voice. He and Willa sat down and ate lunch, occasionally making conversation with Tim, Sasha, and Martin. 

When lunch was over, Jon would take her back to the daycare center for the last half of the day. She might cry, but Jon knew now that she would be alright. She was strong. When work was over, Jon would take her home and tell Daisy that Willa had spent the whole day in day care, and Daisy would probably tickle Willa, and say “That’s my girl!”

And they would be alright, the two of them. They were their own little family, now. They would be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’m going to go ahead and say that Willa has turned Jon into a nicer, more patient person, so all of his season one/two crotchety-ness is null. 
> 
> Also: it’s important to me that you know that the jon i’m envisioning for this au is tatum hedrick’s (@tatumsdrawing on tumblr) bc that Jon plus a baby? Yes. spectacular. This is the platonic ideal of hot jon. This is a jon who eats his veggies and gets enough sleep. This is a Jon who did crossfit once and has been riding that wave ever since.


	4. Don’t Worry, You’re Gonna Be Fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon reconnects with an old friend and has some self doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day call that a [joke pending].
> 
> Heads up, Jon has some brief internalized aphobia in this chapter, but Georgie shuts it down quickly. Just thought I’d warn you.

_Everyone blooms in their own time  
Some far ahead, some far behind  
So wherever you are, don't worry, you're gonna be fine, fine, fine  
Cause everyone blooms in their own time_  
(Everyone Blooms-- The Front Bottoms)

Jon was not entirely sure what possessed him to call Georgie, but by the time he was reconsidering, the line was ringing. 

She picked up. “Hello?” she asked, surprised. 

“Georgie! He- hello,” Jon stammered. 

“Hey...Jon,” she said, bemused. 

He felt strangely unsure of what to do with his hands, even though this was a phone conversation. “What-- what’s up?” 

She chuckled. “Jon, are you really calling me after all these years to ask ‘what’s up’?”

Jon rubbed his face. “Er… Kind of?”

“Well...Not much. What about you?” she said, and Jon could tell she was laughing at him. 

He exhaled. “Not much either, I suppose.”

Georgie was silent for a moment. “Well,” she said sucking her teeth, “Goodbye, Jon.”

“Wh-- Georgie, wait,” Jon begged, and he heard a quiet chuckle. “Look, I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry for how we… drifted apart. And while I’m at it, I’m sorry for how I acted when we were together, too.”

Georgie didn’t speak. Jon wished he could see her face. “Thanks, Jon,” she said at last. “And for the record, It wasn’t all bad, dating you.”

Jon smiled. “I… Recently, I’ve had a few… experiences, I guess you could say. I don’t want to take things for granted. And I took you for granted. I… also don’t want to live with regrets.”

“Jon...did you see a ghost or something?” she teased.

Jon chuckled. “No, not quite. Georgie, is there any chance we can try again?”

Georgie sucked in a breath. “Listen, Jon, great as it is to hear from you, I-- we’re not in Uni, anymore, you know?”

Jon backedaled. “Oh, n-no, Georgie, I don’t mean dating. I just-- I just want to be friends again.”

“Oh! Oh, sure, yeah. No problem,” she replied, laughing. Jon exhaled in relief. 

Georgie and Jon spent the next few hours talking over the past few years, and all the life changes they’d undergone. Georgie talked to Jon about her successful podcast, and her career in the paranormal community. She also mentioned that she got a cat, and promised to send pictures. 

Jon spoke about Willa, about Simone’s passing and Jon’s decision, and the huge adjustment that he had to make. Georgie was shocked, obviously, but she told Jon she was impressed, and proud of him. Jon remembered the distinct swell in the chest that came when Georgie Barker told you she was proud of you.

They made plans to spend lunch together the next week, which came quickly, to Jon’s pleasure. Soon enough, he was opening the door for a Georgie Barker who had clearly changed but was still unquestionably his closest friend from youth. 

They sat and ordered, and Georgie began talking all about the newest episode of What The Ghost she was working on. Her enthusiasm was as contagious as ever. She also showed Jon new pictures of the Admiral, which were adorable. In return, Jon displayed pictures of Willa. 

“Oh, Jon, she’s lovely! I can’t wait to meet her,” Georgie said, smiling down at Jon’s phone. 

Jon beamed. “Thanks,” he told her. “She’s been much more verbal recently. I think it’s been good for her, being around kids her own age at the daycare .”

Georgie grinned. “Oh, I bet.”

“And I’ve finally got her potty trained, thank god.”

She grimaced. “Yikes. That sounds difficult.”

Jon shrugged. “It’s mainly a matter of being very diligent about teaching her for a few days. After that she’s got it down.”

“Smart girl,” Georgie praised as she took a sip of coffee. 

“Daisy and Willa and I went out for dinner to celebrate,” Jon said, smiling at the memory. 

“Speaking of Daisy…” Georgie said after a beat, shifting in her chair. “You talk about her a lot. Is there… anything there?”

Jon frowned. “What, romantically?”

Georgie nodded. 

Jon grimaced. “No. Absolutely not.”

She laughed. “Oh come on, Daisy doesn’t sound so bad!”

“Oh, Daisy’s lovely. She’s the best. She’s also a lesbian, and my best friend.”

“Right, but you’ve dated your best friends before,” Georgie said, motioning to herself. 

“Not my lesbian ones!”

Georgie chuckled. “No, fair enough. Anybody else on the radar for you, then?”

Jon dismissed it. “No. Not much interest for an unplanned single parent, I don’t think.”

She shrugged. “Well, you never know.”

“If being a single parent isn’t enough deterrent, being asexual probably is.”

Georgie frowned and kicked his leg under the table. “Cut that shit out, Jonathan. No aphobia on my watch, internalized or otherwise.”

He sighed, but nodded. “No, you’re right. And anyways, I’m really not looking for anything right now. I have my hands full with Willa. There’s just no room for romance in my life,” he shrugged. 

“Just watch, the person of your dreams is going to fall right into your lap now.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Somehow I highly doubt that.”

She shrugged. “It could happen,” she sang. 

“Hey, Jon!” Sasha called, her arms around the elbows of Martin and Tim. “We’re going for drinks, want to come?”

His assistants had a habit of inviting him out for drinks after work on Fridays. He always said no because of Willa, which they understood. Typically, he just wasn’t in the mood to go to a pub on Friday nights, so Willa doubled as a convenient excuse. 

Today, though, he found he actually did want to go. “Sure,” he said, causing all three of them to pause and stare at him, slack-jawed. “But I’m not sure if I can get a babysitter, so you had better go on without me,” he told them.

“Nonsense,” Sasha said, leaving Martin and Tim to stand fully in Jon’s office. “We’ll wait for you.” 

“Very well,” Jon replied, and dialed Daisy.

“What’s wrong?” She said.

“Nothing’s wrong. You say that everytime I call you.”

“It saves time in case anything is ever wrong,” she justified. He rolled his eyes.

“Are you able to pick Willa up and take her? She’s fine, but I would like to go for drinks after work. If not, no worries.” 

Daisy didn’t hesitate. “Sure, I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She hung up. 

Jon smiled at his companions, and told them he was getting Willa from daycare so she would be ready. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Willa was feeling very talkative that day, and babbled his ear off as he carried her back to the Archive. He put her down on the ground so she could run up to his coworkers and say hello to them. 

She toddled over to Tim, and he quickly picked her up and swung her in the air, giggling wildly. “How’s the view up there?” He asked, and she laughed. 

“Good!” She screamed. Then he gently handed her off to Sasha, who smiled and gave her a kiss on the cheek. 

“Hello, princess! How was daycare? Did you learn anything?” Sasha asked.

Willa nodded. “I colored,” she said, and motioned for Sasha to put her down. Once on the ground, Willa ran to the nappy bag and rifled around until she found a paper, then proudly held it out for all to see.

It was an abstract, multi-colored scribble. It wasn’t “pretty” per say, but it was definitely art. 

“Oh, lovely!” Sasha exclaimed, and Willa beamed. 

She ran over to Martin and he picked her up. “Is this your drawing?” He asked. She nodded. “Tell me about it,” he prompted. 

Willa started saying something that was a bit nonsensical, but Jon could parse the words “crayon,” “orange,” and “colors.” 

Martin, however, only nodded and watched her as she explained, doing a very heartwarming and convincing impression of a serious art critic. 

Daisy opened the door to the Archive, and Jon handed her the nappy bag, then took Willa from Martin. He handed Willa over to Daisy. 

“Daisy!” She said gleefully. 

“How is my little monster?” Daisy said playfully, and pretended to bite Willa. Willa just laughed. 

Jon caught a glimpse of Tim, Sasha, and Martin’s faces. They were all understandably shocked that Jon’s on-call babysitter was a scarred, tall, terrifying woman. She looked like she could kill someone with nothing but a leaf and a Sharpie marker. 

“Alright, we’re off,” Daisy said to Jon. Jon leaned in and said goodbye to Willa, kissing her cheek. Then he kissed Daisy’s cheek for good measure, and the ladies left.

When he turned around, Tim and Sasha’s eyes were wide. Martin seemed very preoccupied staring at the floor. 

They drove to the pub after, and Sasha rode with Jon. She told him all about an article she’d read, about storytelling and its cultural significance. It was utterly fascinating, and Jon wished the drive was longer so he could hear more about it. Sasha promised to share the article with him, though.

Tim and Martin were already drinking when Sasha and Jon arrived. Tim ordered a pint for Sasha and Jon, then leaned his elbows on the table.

“So,” he said innocently. “Tell us about Daisy.”

Sasha tried to look as if she weren’t also desperately interested in the topic. Martin, however, seemed upset about something, and therefore was the only one _not_ bothering Jon about his roommate. His opinion of Martin increased.

“What do you want to know?” He sighed.

“What does she do?” Sasha asked, drumming her fingers lightly on her glass. 

He shrugged. “She’s a consultant of some sort. I don’t know exactly.”

Sasha quirked her head, her eyebrows raised. “Is that so? That’s interesting. How long has she been doing that for?”

He shrugged. “A few years, I suppose. She used to work with Basira, actually. She was a cop.”

“Oh! Wow. Don’t know why, but I didn’t expect that,” Tim said, frowning thoughtfully. 

Jon narrowed his eyes, but didn’t comment on it. Daisy _defied_ expectations, but somehow Jon doubted that anyone would be surprised with her past as a police officer. 

Sasha leaned forward. “What do you like about her?” 

Jon scoffed. “I don’t know, she’s… considerate? Good with Willa? Easy to get along with?”

Tim took a sip of his beer. “How long have you two been dating?” he asked, nonchalant.

Jon choked on air. “ _What_.”

“Has it been very long?” Tim asked curiously.

Jon shook his head, bewildered. “Tim, no. Daisy and I are not dating. Why does everyone assume that?”

“Ooh! Does that mean she’s single, then?” Sasha asked, brightening.

Tim’s eyes widened. “Sasha, YES!”

Jon sputtered. “No— I don’t know! Please don’t date my roommate!”

Sasha sat back in her seat. “You’re no fun, Jon,” she pouted, but winked goodnaturedly

Martin’s sour mood seemed to have turned in the meantime, judging by his pleased grin. “It’s great that she’s so good with Willa,” he chimed in. 

Sasha nodded in agreement. 

The conversation turned further away from Jon’s romantic life, thankfully. Tim ordered everyone a second round (although Jon had resolved not to have more than one drink.) He and Sasha drank as much as they wanted, and Martin decided to stop after two. 

Tim was, predictably, a flirty drunk. 

“Martin!” Tim said, after returning from the bar with Sasha. “You’re handsome, will you marry me?” he asked earnestly, gazing deeply into Martin’s eyes. 

Martin laughed. “No, Tim,” he said kindly, and Tim hung his head. 

“Sashaaaaa,” he whined. “The love of my life laughed at me! I laid my heart bare and he pointed and laughed! The most beautiful ones are the cruelest,” he lamented, and leaned into Sasha’s space. She steadfastly ignored him.

“What about you, Jon? Will you make me the happiest man in the world?” he pouted. 

Jon shook his head, chuckling. “Afraid not, Tim.”

Tim groaned dramatically. “Every word is like an arrow to my heart! You two deserve each other,” he said, pointing between Jon and Martin. 

Martin studiously inspected the bottom of his glass, his cheeks a light pink that Jon suspected was not only because of the alcohol. 

“At least I’ll always have you, Sasha,” Tim grinned. 

Sasha grimaced. “Ohh… I don’t know about that.”

Tim’s jaw dropped.

“I’m just saying! I want to keep my options open,” she shrugged. 

“Noooooooooooo!” Tim cried. “Will anyone in this bar love me?” 

“You’re too drunk to be propositioning an entire building at once,” Martin said, gently steering Tim to his seat. 

“I think I’m justly the correct amount of drunk. Did that make sense? That was words, right?”

Jon snickered. “I’m going to get you some water,” he said. Tim blew him a kiss. 

When Jon returned, Tim was sandwiched between Sasha and Martin (“Two of my favorite people! This is the life!”) and doing his best to achieve sobriety. 

“Doing his best” in this case meant eating a truly impressive amount of chips. 

Jon slid the water over, and Tim shot him a grateful look before proceeding to down half the glass. 

Sasha, who up until now had been mostly quiet, sat bolt upright. “I have an idea!” she announced. “We’re going to play a game. Everyone say their worst fears. Tim, you go first.”

“I’m afraid of clowns. I think it stems from when my brother almost got killed by a demon clown,” Tim said robotically. 

Sasha nodded. “Okay...good, but it’s not _therapy_. We just say our fears and then we sit in silence, we don’t talk about them after. Martin, you go.”

Martin frowned. “Er… ghosts?”

His contribution was met with unanimous booing. 

“Alright, alright! Give me a minute. I guess… dying alone?” he grimaced. 

Tim sighed mournfully and leaned his head on Martin’s shoulder. “I won’t let you die alone, buddy,” Tim said. 

Martin chuckled. “Cheers, Tim.”

Sasha leaned forward. “My turn! I’m afraid that everything I’ve worked for will have been for nothing and I’ll have spent my life in vain.”

All eyes were on Sasha. She shrugged. “Okay, Jon’s turn.”

“Er… spiders.”

Tim nodded knowingly. He did not know the _actual_ reason for Jon’s fear of spiders, but his support was appreciated nonetheless. 

“Me again?” Tim asked. Sasha nodded. “Okay, so it’s like-- I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like fish, but specifically in aquariums. And only really big aquariums.”

Sasha frowned. “...Why?”

Tim shuddered. “It’s unnatural. They belong in the ocean.”

Sasha shook her head, and nodded to Martin again. “Oh, um, rejection.”

That made sense, based on everything Jon knew of Martin. 

“I’m afraid of being forgotten,” Sasha said simply, just a hint of sadness in her voice.

Jon resisted the urge to reach out and grasp her hand. 

He took a deep breath and avoided the sets of eyes that were on him. “I’m afraid that I’ll end up failing Willa, and I will never be a good parent to her.”

His companions were silent, their eyes still locked on him. He looked down at his hands. 

Tim reached out and placed a hand on Jon’s arm. He looked at him seriously. “Do you love Willa, Jon?” he asked. 

Jon bristled. “Of course!” he insisted. 

Tim continued. “And you would do anything to ensure her safety, happiness, and wellbeing?”

Jon nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

Tim shrugged. “Then you’re doing just fine, Jon. You’re a good dad.”

Something in Jon snagged on the sentence. ‘Dad,’ Tim had said. 

That was the first time he had been referred to as a dad, Willa’s or otherwise. Parent, sure. Guardian, sure. Even uncle, once. But never dad. Never father. 

Jon didn’t know how he felt about it. 

He was still thinking about it hours later, after having dropped Sasha off at her flat, (Martin had taken Tim home in his car). He was sober by then, and he did his nightly routine still replaying the words in his head. 

_You’re a good dad._

Jon couldn’t tell if that was disrespectful to her birth parents, though. They were people who had existed and made an impact, even if Willa would never remember them. Would referring to himself as her father be erasing them, in some way?

But he also did not want Willa to doubt how much he loved her, or to feel like he was distancing himself from her by not calling himself her father, because that was not the case. He would do anything for Willa. 

He asked Daisy about it, the next day. They were having a slow morning, and Daisy was drinking tea on the sofa. 

“I’m… having a dilemma,” Jon said, sitting cross-legged beside her. 

“Do tell,” Daisy said without looking at him. 

“I… Is it… Is it wrong of me to refer to myself as Willa’s father?” he asked, frowning. 

Daisy glanced over. “Why would it be wrong?”

“Well… she has a father. And a mother. But they died. I feel like it may be disrespectful to their memories, to refer to her as my daughter.”

Daisy snorted. “What would you call her? Your cousin? Your ward? That’s stupid, Jon. You adopted her. She’s got your name, now. That’s your daughter, and you’re her father,” she said decisively, in a tone which left no room for argument. 

But Jon was not entirely convinced. He called Georgie. 

“Uh-oh, what’s the matter?” she said fondly when she picked up. 

“How do you know if something’s the matter?” he asked, frowning. 

“Well, it’s quite early on a Saturday, and you didn’t text before calling.”

Fair enough. “Alright, fine. Something’s the matter.”

“Out with it. It won’t do you any good all holed up inside,” Georgie said, and she reminded him uncannily of his grandmother. 

He suppressed the urge to shudder. “I can’t tell if I’m being stupid about something.”

“You definitely are, but go on.”

“I… I am hesitant to refer to myself as Willa’s father.”

“Why? That’s what you are, aren’t you?”

“I-- I suppose, but-- ugh, Georgie, she already has a father! A french man, who died, and left Simone to raise a baby all on her own, except she died, too! And now poor Willa has no parents except-- except me, and I’m… I’m just bad at it, Georgie.”

Georgie was silent for a long moment. 

“Bullshit.”

“What?” he almost wasn’t sure if he’d heard her correctly. 

“That’s bullshit, Jon. You’re a great parent. Willa is lucky to have you. You are complying with the wishes of a dead woman whom you never met, and now you’re raising her perfect daughter, because you are a good person, who cares about other people.”

“Well don’t say it so loudly, you’ll ruin my reputation,” he joked lamely. 

“Hah, hah,” Georgie replied drily. “Seriously, Jon. You love Willa! And you’ve told me about how you plan to teach her about her parents, about her past and her heritage! You’re not hiding the fact that you’re not her biological father. Just let yourself be her dad, Jon. It’s what she needs. She has an unconventional family situation, and that’s a fact. It can’t be glossed over on purpose, _or_ on accident.”

Jon sighed. “I-- you’re right, Georgie. Thank you.” They were silent for a moment. 

Georgie sighed softly. “Jon, you’re doing a good job.”

“So I keep hearing.”

“Well, maybe get your head out of your rear and start listening to us when we’re talking to you! You might learn something useful,” she said, only half-joking. 

He laughed. “Thank you, Georgie.”

“What did Daisy say, when you asked her?”

“About… about the same.”

“Smart woman. I always liked her.”

Jon grinned. “You’ve never met her, Georgie.”

“Point still stands, though, doesn’t it?” she laughed. 

They departed shortly after, and Jon sighed. She was right; they all were. Jon was being foolish. Willa was his daughter, and he was her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s right kids, Danny’s alive now. Tim being sad is not fucking it babes, not in my house. 
> 
> Also. I think I have a problem where I enjoy writing Tim under the influence way too much. Idk why????


	5. If You'd Have Just Told Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Willa has a birthday party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope my child development is accurate, if it’s not then pretend Willa is the most advanced toddler ever. It’s fine :))))))) Don’t worry about it :))))))))))))))
> 
> Sooo it worked out that i'm posting the birthday chapter on my actual birthday, which was unplanned but kinda cute

_I didn't know that you were lonely  
If you'd have just told me, I'd be home with you_  
(Home With You-- FKA Twigs)

There was a knock at the door, and Willa sat up excitedly, her eyes wide. Jon chuckled as he scooped her up and opened the door. 

“Happy birthday!” Willa shouted. 

“No, happy birthday to you, Willa!” Tim said, grinning. Jon stepped aside and let him in, and Tim held up a gift bag. “Where should I put this?” he asked Jon. 

Jon pointed to the kitchen table, where Basira and Daisy’s gifts for Willa sat. Tim deposited his offering. 

“Damn, I was hoping to be the first one here,” Tim sighed. 

“Bit of a tall order, considering one of the guests _lives here_ ,” Jon laughed. 

Tim shrugged. “A guy can dream. Anyways, let me see the birthday girl.” He reached his arms out for Willa, and she went easily. “You are getting so big!” he told her, and she giggled. “How old are you now, Willa?”

“Three!” she said proudly, holding up three fingers. “How old are you?”

“I’m thirty-four.”

Willa frowned.

“Yeah, there’s not enough fingers for that one,” Tim said, laughing. “Who else is here?” he turned to Jon. 

“Basira and Daisy, but they left to get ice.”

Tim furrowed his brows. “What do you need ice for? It’s chilly out.”

Jon shrugged. “Daisy just likes drinking iced coffee. It’s unrelated to the party.”

Tim snorted. “I see. That’s pretty silly, isn’t it Willa?”

“Yes. Very silly,” Willa said seriously. 

There was another knock at the door, and Jon answered it. Sasha and Martin stood behind it, each holding gifts of their own. “Hey, Jon,” Sasha greeted, stepping inside. 

Martin followed, nodding to Jon. They each placed their gifts on the kitchen table and walked over to Tim and Willa. 

“Happy birthday!” Sasha said brightly. 

“Happy birthday!” Willa answered. 

Sasha looked to Jon, a bemused smile on her face. 

“Willa has decided that it is appropriate to reciprocate if someone wishes you happy birthday,” he explained. 

Sasha melted a bit. “Okay, hand her over, Tim,” Sasha insisted, and Tim sighed but did so. “How’s my girl?” Sasha asked Willa. 

“Good,” Willa replied shyly. 

“Are you having a good birthday?” 

Willa nodded her head emphatically. “Mh-hm!”

Sasha grinned. “That’s wonderful, love. And you’re how old?” 

“Three.”

“So big already! You’re going to be taller than me, soon,” Sasha joked. “Alright, would you like to say hi to Martin now?” 

Willa nodded, and stretched her arms to Martin, who had been patiently waiting to greet the birthday girl. Martin took her, and Sasha joined Tim, who was chowing down on a vegetable platter. 

“Hi, Martin.”

“Hello, Willa. Are you excited to open presents?” Martin asked. Willa’s eyes widened, and she nodded intensely. “What do you think you’re going to get?”

Willa frowned. “A rocket ship!”

Martin laughed. “Did you get her a rocket ship, Jon?” Martin called, and Jon poked his head out of the kitchen. 

“Er...no. sorry.” he grimaced. 

“Not this time, Wills,” Martin said sympathetically. 

Willa sighed heavily and threw her head back. Martin put her down and she walked to the kitchen and latched onto Jon’s pants. 

“Hello there,” Jon said lightly.

“Hiiiiiii,” Willa replied. 

There was another knock on the door, and Jon froze. His hands were covered in frosting from decorating Willa’s cake, and he had an ankle weight in the form of a three-year-old. 

“I’ll get it,” Sasha offered. Jon shot her a grateful look, and she opened the door. 

“Hi! You’re not Jon,” Georgie’s voice said. 

“No, I’m in the kitchen,” Jon called. Georgie appeared, and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. “That’s Sasha, Tim, and Martin,” Jon said, gesturing to them each in turn. “This is Georgie, everyone.”

Georgie shook everyone’s hands. “Hello, all,” she said, smiling. “Where’s the girl of the hour?”

Jon pointed to the floor. 

Willa looked up from her spot seated beside Jon’s leg. 

“Hello, you. Good to see you again,” she said. “And happy birthday.”

“Happy birthday,” Willa returned. 

Georgie furrowed her brow. “Oh. Thanks.”

Daisy and Basira returned then, a bag of ice held on Daisy’s shoulder. “We’ve returned,” Basira said. 

Daisy put the ice in the freezer, and Jon introduced everyone to Daisy and Basira.

They ate dinner shortly after. Sasha, Tim, and Martin shared some of their favorite stories of Willa in the Archive, and Daisy talked about some of the adventures she’d had with Willa, too. 

Then it was time for cake, and after that, presents. “Who would you like to sit with?” Jon asked, holding Willa, when the cake had been eaten. 

“‘Sira,” she said, pointing to Basira. Basira made a triumphant expression, and Tim hung his head dramatically. 

“She’s broken my heart!” he exclaimed. 

Willa giggled from her comfortable spot on Basira’s lap. 

They all took turns passing Willa her presents to unwrap, starting with Georgie. Georgie got Willa a cardboard book (which she was not very interested in), but Jon thanked her. 

“Of course, Jon’s going to raise an intellectual,” Tim laughed. 

“Trust me, I’m teaching her to read this year,” Jon said. 

Then Daisy’s present, a plastic tool set, then Tim’s, which was building blocks. Sasha gave her another book, and Martin got her fingerpaints. After opening her presents, Willa decided she was in the mood to play, so she clambered off of Basira’s lap and plopped down on the floor with her blocks. Tim, predictably, decided to join. 

Everyone else took the opportunity to chat, although Daisy did sit with Willa and Tim on the floor after a few minutes. 

Sasha had to leave after a bit, and hugged Willa tightly. “Goodbye, my dear! Happy birthday,” she told her, and Willa gave her a kiss on the cheek. 

Tim and Martin left around the same time, each giving Willa a hug and wishing her a happy birthday one last time. 

Willa started getting sleepy not long after, so Basira and Georgie both took that as their cue to leave. 

After all the goodbyes were said and the trash was cleaned up, Jon tucked Willa in and got out a letter from Simone. 

“I’ve got a letter from your Mum, and she wanted me to read it on your birthday, okay? Are you too tired to listen?”

Willa’s eyes were alight with interest, and she shook her head. 

Jon opened the letter. “Dear Willa,” he read. “Happy birthday. I’m sorry I can’t be there, but I want you to know that I love you very much, and I’m so proud of you. I hope you got lots of fun presents to play with. I miss you, love. So much. But I want you to know that I will always, always love you. Even when I’m not around to tell you.

“When I was growing up, I always wanted to know the story of my birth. Back when I was in my mummy’s tummy, as a baby. I want you to be able to have that, so I’ve written it down for your cousin to read. 

“I was not quite nine months pregnant. So you were pretty big, but you still had a little bit of time left to go before you would be ready to come out. But you didn’t like anyone telling you when to go, so you decided to come early. And I was _not_ prepared. 

“I didn’t have a bag packed, I had to ask my neighbor for a ride to the hospital-- my entire plan fell apart. But you’d made up your mind, and you were coming out of me whether I liked it or not. I won’t tell you about the actual birth-- except that it was long, because you took your sweet time. But eventually you had arrived, and the doctor put you in my arms. You were healthy and strong, my precious girl. And I loved you instantly. 

“I was so happy when I finally got to take you home. It was hard, having a newborn all on my own, but I managed. And you were such a delight, Willa. You still are. 

“I love you, okay? You be good for your cousin. I miss you, love. Happy birthday.”

Jon folded the letter. He heard a sniffle.

“I miss Mummy,” Willa said, tearing up. Jon took her in his arms and held her tightly. 

Jon’s heart broke clean in two. “I know, pumpkin. I’m sorry. It’s...It’s hard, isn’t it?”

He felt her nod against him. 

“It’s tough, losing people. It hurts, doesn’t it? Feels heavy.”

Willa sobbed, and nodded.

“I’m sorry, Willa. I wish I could take the hurt and hold it for you. But I don’t know how. All I can do is be here with you, okay? I’m right here. And I know your Mummy loves you. She said so herself, remember? And she wrote you lots and lots of letters, so we’ll always remember her.”

“Can we see her?” Willa asked, leaning back to look at Jon.

He nodded. “Of course, love. How about tomorrow?”

Willa nodded, and tucked herself against Jon once more. She slowly calmed down enough to fall asleep, and Jon placed her gently in her crib. She would be too big for it, soon. But not yet. 

No, not yet. 

Jon scrolled through his contact list in a frenzy, running a hand through his hair. 

Daisy and Basira were out; they were on a camping trip this week. 

He couldn’t call Tim, his brother was staying with him. Sasha was visiting with family, too. 

Fuck.

Georgie! He’d call Georgie.

He pressed dial and put the phone to his ear.

_Please pick up, please pick up._

“Hi, you’ve reached Georgie. You know what to do,” her voicemail said. Jon angrily hung up. It was the middle of the night, she was probably asleep. 

“Shit!” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “I don’t- fuck, I need— Martin!” Jon scrolled to Martin’s contact and called him.

“Please Martin, come on…” Jon bit his lip.

The call went through. “Hello?” Martin said, sleepy.

“Martin! Oh, thank god.” Jon’s voice cracked. 

“Jon? What’s going on? Are you alright?” Martin asked, alarm spiking through his tone. 

“I— Martin, it’s Willa,” Jon answered, strangled. 

“Okay, I’m coming over. Tell me what’s wrong with her.” Jon could hear rustling on the other end, the various sounds of Martin getting dressed and leaving his flat.

“She— she’s got a fever, she said her stomach was hurting earlier, I don’t—“

“Take a breath, Jon. Have you called her pediatrician?”

Jon froze. “No. Oh my god, no, I haven’t.”

“Okay. Call the doctor, then call me back after, alright? I’m on my way.” 

Jon nodded, then remembered Martin could not see him. “Okay. Okay, I will. Thank you, Martin.”

“See you soon,” Martin said, and the line went dead.

“Jon,” Martin said, answering the call. “What did the doctor say?”

“She thinks Willa has the flu. She told me to get some over-the-counter medicine for her fever,” he replied. He sounded much calmer now, thankfully.

“I’m on your street, now. Do you want me to grab some medicine? There’s a shop right here,” he said.

“Yes, please, Martin. Thank you. I-I’ll text you the name of it, alright?”

“Sure,” Martin said. They hung up. 

His phone buzzed a second later, with the name of the medicine. Martin walked into the 24 hour shop and nodded to the clerk, then beelined for the medicine. He found what he needed and paid as quickly as he could. 

He speedwalked to Jon and Daisy’s flat, and buzzed up. Jon let him in, looking a bit frantic. Martin handed Jon the bag, and Jon wasted no time administering the medicine to a half-asleep Willa, who was curled up on the couch. 

He pressed the back of his hand to her forehead, and she sniffled. “I’m sorry, love,” he said gently. Her breathing evened out moments later, and she fell asleep. 

Martin stood in the living room, still wearing his coat, and feeling fairly awkward. Jon seemed to remember he was there, because he turned and stood, meeting Martin’s eyes.

“Thank you, Martin. I- I don’t know what I’d have done without you,” he said sincerely.

Martin felt a bit flustered under the weight of his earnestness. “Er- of course, Jon. It’s no trouble. I just hope she feels better, soon.” 

Jon placed the medicine on an end table and took a seat in the recliner. He put his face in his hands, and groaned. “I just— I can’t believe I didn’t call the doctor, Martin. How could I have been so— so _stupid_!”

“Whoa, Jon— it’s alright, Willa’s okay.” Martin placed a hand on Jon’s shoulder.

Jon looked up at him. “No, it’s not okay. I’m- I failed her, Martin. It’s exactly what I was afraid of. I’m… I'm not cut out for this. Why did I think I could be a parent? Be a father? I had no role models! I don’t know how to do this! I’m— I’m just going to end up messing her up permanently.” Jon deflated, slumping in his chair and curling in on himself.

Martin crouched in front of the recliner, so he was looking up at Jon. “Jon, listen to me. You are too hard on yourself.”

Jon scoffed.

“Hey, excuse me, none of that. Just… shut up and listen, alright?” Martin said. Jon said nothing, but he met Martin’s eyes.

“You’re a good dad. You care so much for Willa. You know you do. You haven’t even been her guardian for a year, but already you’ve adjusted everything about your life to make room for her. Because you’re a good dad. Even though you didn’t expect to have her, even though you didn’t ask for any of this— you said you would raise her, and you are.”

Jon exhaled. 

Martin continued. “You’re going to screw up sometimes, Jon. Of course you are. You’re going to drop the ball, forget things sometimes— all of that. You will even—very likely— fail her. But that’s alright. Because you don’t have to be perfect, Jon. Just— be there for her. As much as you can. As well as you can. Take it a day at a time, alright? You don’t need to have the next two decades planned out. 

“But you know what’s going to happen if Willa grows up and all she sees is you being hard on yourself, berating yourself for your failures and mistakes, right?” Martin asked. 

Jon looked down. 

“You don’t want that for her, Jon. I know you don’t.”

He nodded, his gaze still down. 

“So please, for both of your sakes— be patient with yourself,” Martin pleaded. At some point during his talk, he’d placed his hand on Jon’s knee without noticing. He removed it, somewhat awkwardly. 

Jon looked at him again. “I—“ he sighed. “You’re right, Martin. Thank you.” 

Martin just nodded, and shrugged. “Would you… like some tea, Jon?” He asked, and Jon nodded eagerly.

“Yes, please,” he said, and Martin chuckled. 

“Be back in a bit,” Martin said, and disappeared into the kitchen. He busied himself with tea-making, and heard Jon talking quietly to the still-sleeping Willa. Martin took a glance into the living room, and saw Jon kneeling by the couch, gently playing with her curly hair. 

Martin fixed the tea, and handed a mug to Jon, still on the floor. He sat cross-legged beside Jon in front of the couch, drinking from his own mug. 

“Thank you,” Jon said softly, accepting the tea. 

Martin shrugged. 

Jon took a sip, and gave a contented smile. “How do you make it perfectly every time?” Jon asked. 

Martin hoped Jon could not see his blush. “Um, it’s not that hard,” he said. “Just a matter of knowing what’s the best water temperature and how long to steep for. Well, that, and memorizing everyone’s preferences,” he said with a chuckle.

“Well, all I can say is I can never make it this good,” Jon replied softly.

Martin had to force himself to look away. 

“I’ll take her to the doctor tomorrow,” Jon said, after a bit. “Hopefully she feels better, but… you know. Better safe than sorry.” 

Martin nodded. “I guess I should get out of your hair, eh?” He stood and yawned. 

“Oh, Martin, it’s three in the morning. I can’t make you go all the way home at this hour,” Jon insisted.

Martin intended on protesting, but a wave of exhaustion hit him, and he swayed on his feet. “I see your point,” he said instead.

“Here, why don’t you take my room for the night,” Jon offered.

Martin put his hands up. “No, I couldn’t possibly—“

“Martin, Willa’s out here, anyways. I’d be spending the night on the couch even if you _weren’t_ here,” Jon replied.

Martin felt his arguments die in his throat. “Well… alright. If you really don’t mind,” he said. 

Jon shook his head, and led Martin to his room. He showed Martin the bathroom, and the closet that had extra blankets, and Martin thanked him before collapsing on Jon’s bed. 

The night caught up to Martin, and he inhaled the scent of _Jon_ that lingered on his bed. It was comforting, and Martin’s heart beat steady in his chest as he gave in to sleep.


	6. I Don't Mind if I Don't Feel It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon is in a bit of an emotional pickle, and Tim and Martin are injured on the job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It felt weird not having any big nods to canon in this fic, so I threw one in here. This fic is now technically canon divergence. Anywho, don’t apply more than two seconds of thought to the timeline here, because it will fall apart, because i... fudged it. A little. Just… enjoy it in spite of its glaring inconsistencies. Please. For me.   
> Also note that this is pretty much the only canon-event that happens in the fic because... it just worked out that way??? Whoops? The price for soft found family content is there is a sharp decrease in spookiness, apparently. 
> 
> Also,,, i finished writing the last chapter yesterday, meaning I wrote this entire fic in one week. No real idea how I managed that, except possibly I blacked out and wrote three chapters in one day :0

_I don't mind if I don't see it  
I don't mind if I don't feel it  
I don't mind this game  
I don't know what to say_  
(Evolve-- Phoria)

Here was the problem:

Martin was a good person. He was kind, and caring, and selfless. And Jon knew that this was partly because he was a people-pleaser, sure, but part of it was who Martin was. Martin was… he was just _good_.

Plus, the quality of his work had improved greatly since Jon had been on leave. Sasha had apparently taken it upon herself to teach Martin how to do his job effectively. So Martin was, now, very good at his job. 

Which was another problem. 

Not only was Martin kind, and good, he was also, thanks to Sasha, _competent._ Meaning Jon had nothing to be angry at him about anymore. 

Meaning Jon could no longer use anger as a way of procrastinating evaluating his true feelings towards Martin. Feelings which had begun to become increasingly clear since Willa was sick. 

So, to recap:

Jon liked Martin. Romantically. Well, platonically, too, he supposed, but that was not an issue. The romance was the issue. 

And a big one, at that.

“Stop scowling, Jon. You look like a cross schoolteacher,” Daisy said, lightly swatting the top of Jon’s head with a newspaper as she passed. 

Jon huffed and folded his arms. “I’m.. grappling with something.”

Daisy paused. She pivoted on her heel and turned back to him, leaning over the back of the couch. “Care to share?” she asked curiously. 

Jon considered it. It couldn’t hurt, really, and Daisy wouldn’t gossip about it, except maybe to Basira. But that was a risk Jon was willing to take. “Alright,” he said at last. 

Daisy grinned and moved to sit beside him on the sofa. “I’m all ears, lad.”

Jon sighed. “I… have feelings.”

“...Congrats?”

“No, Daisy-- I mean I have feelings for Martin.” he wanted to shrink under the weight of her gaze. 

“You… like Martin?”

Jon nodded. 

Daisy shrugged. “Hmm. Alright. Where does the grappling come in?”

“Well-- it’s a complicated situation. I’m his boss, a-and I’ve got Willa to think about--” Jon stammered. 

“Does the Institute have any rules against fraternization?” Daisy asked. 

Jon hesitated. “Er… No…”

Daisy chuckled. “Well, there’s that solved, then.”

Jon sighed. “I just-- Daisy, there’s a lot to think about here.”

Daisy put her hands up. “I get it, Jon. If you don’t think it’s right, don’t do anything about it.”

Jon frowned. “It’s… It’s not that I think it’s ‘not right,’ it’s just that…” he trailed off, and looked down. 

“You know,” Daisy said, looking out the window. “I’ve been in love with Basira for four years.”

Jon whipped around to look at her. “What? I had no idea. I thought you were just friends,” he said, shocked. 

“We are.”

“Oh, she doesn’t-- she doesn’t know how you feel?”

Daisy shrugged. “She knows.”

Jon was confused. “Wait so… she doesn’t feel the same, then?”

She shook her head. “Basira… feels similarly,” she said at last. 

Jon paused. “Daisy, I’m confused.”

Daisy chuckled at that, and looked at him. “Basira and I… Well, I’d say it’s complicated, but it’s not, really. It’s simple. We could start dating. And it would be good. Nothing bad would happen.”

Jon frowned. “Well… can I ask why you don’t, then?”

“I think… It’s not quite time for us, yet.”

“But how do you know when it _is_ time?”

“I guess we’ll know it when we feel it,” she said simply. 

This, while a very romantic sentiment, was very frustrating and unhelpful for Jon’s current situation.

Still, it solidified one thing in Jon’s mind. He could not tell Martin how he felt. He knew that in the past, Martin had feelings for Jon. He did not know how strong they had been, or if they were still around. 

But Martin’s feelings had no bearing on Jon’s decision, as harsh as it may have sounded. No, Jon couldn’t talk to Martin about his feelings because of Willa. 

There was simply no way Jon would be able to balance a relationship and be a single parent. Willa was still grieving her mother, in her own way, and Jon would not put her emotional state in jeopardy in any way.

His priority was Willa. 

Jon came into work the next day and put Willa in daycare, then walked to his office, intent on recording a statement. Right before he began, there was a knock on his door. 

Jon looked up, and Martin was standing there with a smile and a cup of tea. “Morning, Jon!” he said brightly. He handed Jon the tea. 

“Martin,” Jon said, surprised. “You’re in early,” 

Martin shrugged. “Got a head start today, I guess. Anyways, I was going to do some follow-up on that Carlos Vittery statement,” he said, turning to leave. 

Something about it didn’t sit right with Jon, though. “Martin, wait.”

Martin stopped, and looked at him. 

“Don’t… don’t go alone. You should take Tim with you, when he gets in.” 

Martin seemed a bit confused, but he nodded. “Alright… sure,” he replied, and with one last glance at Jon, he left.

Of course, Jon kept thinking about Martin after he was gone. He was hung up on Martin’s genuine smile, the unexpected sense of humor he had-- everything about him that made him _Martin_. It made Jon’s pulse quicken, just to think of it. 

God, he was screwed. He was wildly, wildly out of his depth. 

But then again, that’s how he always felt, these days. 

Even aside from Martin’s myriad of other good qualities-- he was _so_ good with Willa. He was amazing with her. He loved to see her, to take her on walks around the Institute-- he delighted in her the same way Jon did. That… that meant something to Jon. 

And Willa adored Martin, too. Jon suspected that he was her favorite of the archive staff. She was always excited to see him, and she’d come to trust him so easily. Jon’s chest warmed at the memory. 

He realized, distantly, that he had been sitting in his office starting into a mug of tea for the past five minutes, just thinking about Martin. He sighed, and returned to his statement. 

Jon was driving home when he got a phone call from Tim. 

“Hello?” he said. 

“Heyo,” Tim said in an attempt to be casual, though his voice was shaky. “So, a bad thing happened. Martin and I are okay, but-- can you… come back to the Archive?” he asked, and Jon realized that that wavering in his voice was because of fear.

“I- yeah, let me just drop Willa off with Daisy,” Jon said. Tim said goodbye, and Jon hurried home. He called Daisy to meet him outside their building, where he passed Willa to her. 

“Is everything alright?” she asked, as he returned to his car. 

He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he replied, trying and failing to keep the panic from his voice. He rushed back to the Institute, and saw that Tim, Martin, and Sasha’s cars were still there. 

He walked into the Archives and looked around. “Tim? Martin?” he called. 

Sasha appeared from the doorway to the breakroom, and beckoned Jon closer. Jon turned the corner to the breakroom, and gasped. 

Martin and Tim were seated at the table, looking exhausted. They had blood and dirt on them, as well as small spots of pale goo covering their clothes. 

“Oh my god,” Jon said breathlessly. He rushed to Martin, but held himself back before he touched him. “What happened?”

Sasha sighed. “Remember that statement about Jane Prentiss?” she asked. 

Jon swiveled to look at her. 

“She was at Carlos Vittery’s place. And there were… _a lot_ of worms,” Tim said tiredly. He pointed to a goo spot on his shirt. 

“Prentiss started attacking them with worms, and they escaped using a fire extinguisher. Apparently, they don’t like carbon dioxide,” Sasha explained quietly. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Jon said, looking between Tim and Martin. “Are either of you hurt?”

Martin grimaced. “Sort of…? The worms tried to-- er, ‘infest’ us?”

Tim gagged. 

“We got them out before any could burrow too deep, though,” Martin said, holding up his arm. There was a round hole covered with dried blood. 

“They think the fire extinguisher killed her, but they aren’t sure,” Sasha added.

Jon scrubbed his face with his hands. “Alright,” he said. “Please take the next week off, you two. Get… get some rest.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice,” Tim said and stood on weak legs. He braced himself with a hand on the table. “Sasha, dear?” he asked. 

“You don’t even need to ask, I’m 100% taking you home tonight,” she said. He shot her grateful smile. “Martin, you need a ride?” she said, turning to him. 

“That’s alright, I can take him home,” Jon said. “That is, if you don’t mind, Martin,” he added, looking to Martin nervously. 

Martin shrugged, his eyes wide. 

“Well, alright then.” Sasha put an arm around Tim’s waist to help him walk. “Off we go, Stoker. Let’s get you home.” They said their goodbyes, and hobbled out of the Archive. 

“Shall we?” Jon asked, turning to Martin. Martin nodded.

“How are you feeling?” Jon asked as they walked down the steps of the Institute.

Martin snorted. “Bit like I’ve been attacked by a worm queen, to tell the truth,” he said drily. 

Jon chuckled. 

“To be honest, this isn’t _exactly_ how I saw my career going when I was younger. To be fair, I did drop out of school when I was seven... teen.” Martin froze, evidently not intending to say that. 

Jon stared at him. 

“I-- er…” Martin said. 

“So… you lied on your CV?” he asked, monotone. 

Martin nodded. 

“You don’t have a master’s in parapsychology?”

Martin shook his head. 

“Alright,” Jon said, and continued walking. 

“Wha- you’re not going to fire me?” Martin squawked. 

“Martin, you were just attacked by a monster. What kind of person would I be if I fired you hours after you almost died on the job?” he asked, unlocking his car. 

“So you’re not going to fire me now, but you will fire me later?” Martin asked, his eyebrows raised. 

Jon hesitated. “Well… No. I wasn’t planning on firing you at all.” 

“Oh. Um…” he looked at Jon with narrowed eyes. “ ...Why?” Martin buckled his seatbelt and then turned to Jon again. 

Jon fidgeted. “Well… The quality of your work has improved a lot,” he answered. 

Martin’s slightly suspicious expression did not change. “...Okay…”

He looked down. “Just… seems a shame to fire you right when you finally know what you’re doing,” Jon said, shrugging in a way that was not quite nonchalant. 

Martin gave a disbelieving laugh. “Right. Of course.”

“Besides,”Jon said, pulling out of the parking lot. “I’m not even sure I could fire you.”

Martin frowned. “What are you talking about? Of course you can.” 

Jon sighed. He wasn’t sure how to explain that. “I mean… “ he broke off. “It’s like if I try to think about firing you, or settle on it, my brain… won’t let me.”

“...Huh? What the hell do you mean, ‘it won’t let you?’”

Jon groaned. “It’s…. It’s strange. I can’t focus on it. The thought keeps trying to slip away.” He waved his hand through the air in a vague gesture. 

“Oh. That’s… slightly worrying,” Martin said, settling in his seat. 

Jon nodded. “I’m… trying not to think about it, at the moment. Which probably won’t be too difficult,” he chuckled slightly. 

Martin smiled. The rest of the drive to Martin’s flat was quiet, just the sound of tyres on pavement. Finally, Jon pulled up to Martin’s place. Martin reached for the handle. 

“Martin,” Jon said quietly. Martin froze, his hand on the door. “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d died,” he said unexpectedly solemn, and he met Martin’s eyes. 

Martin said nothing, just looked at Jon, his brow furrowed. Then his eyes widened, and Jon saw that Martin… Martin knew. He could see Jon’s feelings for him clear as day. 

Jon’s heart thundered in his chest, waiting for Martin to say something, anything. 

But Martin didn’t. He just took one of Jon’s hands resting on the steering wheel, and squeezed it, gently. He gave a heavy sigh, and nodded. Then he left, with one last long look. 

Jon exhaled, and put his head against the steering wheel. 

Martin knew. Martin felt the same. And still, there was nothing to be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon, you beautiful fool. You can be a dad AND have a boyfriend! Legally, you’re allowed to do that. In fact, I insist.


	7. My Love It Kills Me Slowly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim forces Martin and Jon to have a conversation.

_My love it kills me slowly  
Slowly I could die_  
(Silk--Wolf Alice)

Things were… awkward. _Very_ awkward. 

Jon had tried his best to act normal when Tim and Martin returned to work, but judging by the stilted way he and Martin interacted, he had failed. 

Tim and Sasha seemed confused by their actions, understandably. Sasha had tried to speak to Jon about it, but Jon dodged her questions and found an excuse to leave. He appreciated the effort, truly. 

But there was simply nothing to be done. 

It had been two weeks. Martin and Jon avoided each other where they could. Martin stopped bringing Jon tea, and Jon stopped making specific requests for Martin’s work. 

The one thing that hadn’t changed, though, was Martin’s time with Willa. He still took her out, and spent time with her during work. Jon was grateful; the last thing he wanted was for Willa to suffer in any way because of his own interpersonal shortcomings.

Tim, however… Tim began regarding Jon with an air of suspicion. It stung a bit, if Jon was honest. He knew that Tim had the right to feel however he wanted about Jon, especially after being injured on the job. 

But Jon had an inkling that Tim’s animosity did not stem from being attacked under Jon’s watch. No, Tim’s animosity stemmed from Jon’s new dynamic with Martin. 

Jon huffed and dropped a file on his desk. He was not in the proper mindset to record a statement. He pulled his hair back and resolved to make himself some tea and try again later. 

He stood, and moved to the door of his office, but Tim burst in. 

“You!” he said, pointing his finger at Jon and shutting the door behind him. Jon sat back down. 

“Me?” he asked. 

“What the fuck did you do, Jon?” Tim accused angrily. 

Jon put his hands up. “Nothing, I--”

Tim continued. “Martin is _miserable_ , Jonathan. He was fine before we were attacked, but it’s not about that. I’ve asked him.” Tim crossed his arms and glared at Jon. 

“I didn’t… I didn’t do anything, Tim.” Jon wasn’t lying. He hadn’t even technically _told_ Martin that he had feelings for him. Martin had just known. 

But that was the issue, apparently. 

Tim glared at him. “Did you break his heart? Did he finally confess and you trampled over his hopes and dreams?”

“Tim-- No! Of course not,” Jon said, bristling. “I… I feel the same way about him,” Jon muttered. 

Tim stared. “What.”

Jon exhaled. “I care about Martin, okay? I don’t-- I don’t want to hurt him.” Tim was silent for a moment. 

“...Well, you have, Jon. And Martin doesn’t deserve that. So just-- fix it, so I can stop being mad at you,” Tim said, his voice taking on a pleading tone. “I don’t like it.” With that, Tim left the office. 

Jon sighed and slumped over. It wasn’t like Tim didn’t have a valid point. It just-- Jon couldn’t… _do_ that right now. Or maybe… maybe ever. 

A voice that sounded like Georgie’s accused him of being emotionally unavailable. Jon did not want to think about it. 

He got up, intent on finally getting his cup of tea. He opened the door to see Sasha storming away, mumbling in aggravation. He turned in the direction she had come from, and saw Martin, looking tired. 

Jon smiled politely. Martin returned it with a helpless little shrug, and for the briefest of moments, things didn’t feel so terrible between them. 

But the moment didn’t last. 

Tim, apparently unsatisfied with how he left his discussion with Jon, found a way to trick Jon and Martin into Artefact Storage together. Later that same day, Tim locked them in (which Elias would have had his head for, had Jon already decided not to rat him out) and told them he would let them out when they had an adult discussion about their feelings. 

Well, that was that, wasn’t it? Better to just come clean and face the consequences?

Martin disagreed, apparently. He’d slumped against the door, ignoring the various vacant desk chairs in favor of sitting on the ground. Jon thought it was probably a bit weird to sit in a chair if Martin wasn’t, so he sat on the ground, too. 

It was not comfortable. Jon was not sure why Martin had done it. 

“So,” Jon said, in an attempt to get the ball rolling. 

Martin said nothing. 

Jon resolved not to let that deter him. “Should we… talk?”

Martin sighed, and looked at Jon with an unimpressed expression. “You start,” he said, and Jon saw he emotionally exhausted Martin must’ve been. He felt guilty to be the cause of that. 

“A-alright. Well… I’m sure you know by now that I...like you,” he said lamely. He felt like a teenager, tripping over his words trying to talk to the boy he likes. 

“I do,” Martin replied simply. “I like you, too.” His face was unreadable.

“Oh,” Jon said, a bit breathless at hearing it out loud. “Right. I-- Martin, I’m sorry, but I can’t… be in a relationship,” he said. 

Martin looked at him, his brows furrowed, but his expression patient. 

Jon sighed. “I-- everything with Willa, I mean-- I’m still adjusting. We both are. I barely know what I’m doing, you know that,” he said, and Martin quirked his head in acknowledgement. Jon wasn’t wrong. “I can’t… balance Willa and a relationship at the same time. I don’t-- I don’t have the ability to do that right now. I’m… I’m sorry, Martin. You deserve…” Jon trailed off, unsure of how to put into words the things that Martin deserved. The main thing, however, was simply “better.”

Because he did. Martin deserved better. Better than Jon, better than someone who did not know how to be a parent, barely knew how to be a person, sometimes--

“Here’s the thing, Jon. I never had any expectations at all. I’m not-- I’m not _asking_ anything from you,” Martin said. “I care about you. I care about Willa. I would never make a request of you that would-- that would in any way jeopardize you and Willa, or damage your relationship. That? That right there? That is what matters to me. My feelings for you, or your feelings for me-- they’re secondary to that, okay? I get it, Jon. I get it.” 

Jon was so overcome with gratitude he would have fallen to his knees, if he weren’t already sitting. He wanted to reach out, to hug Martin-- but that was against the rules. And they couldn’t break the rules. “Martin,” he said instead. “Thank you.”

“It’s okay, Jon. It’s alright,” Martin said, smiling softly. 

They didn’t hug. They kept their distance. And it was fine. 

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i realize i used the “lock two characters in a space and force them to discuss their feelings” trope already in magnus and lukas, but we’re doing it again. Because of...plot…..reasons….. :P
> 
> Side note, if you want to read more of my fics, check out my series magnus and lukas! it's not lonelyeyes. Legally i have to tell you that it's not lonely eyes. it's a bookstore au.


	8. Everything I Ever Did

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's not feeling too hot, and Georgie inspires him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note that there was an ‘offscreen’ adjustment period where Willa went from calling Jon his name to calling him dad/daddy and I just couldn’t find a place to fit it in.

_And everything I ever did_  
Was just another way to scream your name  
(South London Forever-- Florence + The Machine)

As good as it had been to have that frank discussion with Martin, it didn’t make them any less awkward around each other. Sasha had all but given up on facilitating any change between them, and stuck mostly to her own work. She and Tim still whispered about it, of course. But that’s all it was: whispers. 

At least, that’s all it was on Sasha’s end. Tim was still _quite_ determined to force them to overcome their valid reasons for not being together, but you know what? Fine. That was his choice. Jon couldn’t force him to stop. He could only ask him repeatedly not to meddle. Both as a friend, _and_ as a boss. And Tim ignored him, every time. 

Willa seemed to have picked up on the change. “Daddy?” she’d asked once, when they were driving home. 

“Yes, Willa?” he said, looking at her in the rearview mirror. 

“Are you angry?”

“I-- No,” Jon said, then sighed. It was true. “Angry” was not how he would describe his emotional state. Dissatisfied, sure. Unhappy, yes, at times. But not angry. 

If he was angry, it was only at himself. 

“Are you happy?” she asked, and Jon dreaded having to answer. 

How do you explain to a three-year-old that the answer to that question was not quite yes, but nor was it not quite no?

“Sometimes,” he settled on. 

Willa did not seem to know what to do with that. “Oh,” she said. 

The rest of the ride home was quiet. 

Daisy, too, had noticed the change, even without Jon talking to her about it. 

“You’re forcing it, Jon,” she had said one night after dinner, when they were washing dishes side by side. “You can’t force it.”

“I’m not doing anything, Daisy,” he’d said. She raised an eyebrow. 

“Maybe that’s the problem,” she replied evenly. 

“Leave it _alone_ , Daisy,” he’d bitten, and dried his hands, intent on leaving.

“Jon, wait,” she sighed, putting a hand on his arm.

He looked at her. 

“I don’t like seeing you this way,” she told him. 

“What way?”

She shrugged helplessly. “Upset. Moody.”

“Because it’s inconvenient for you to have to deal with it?” he snapped, folding his arms. 

She turned to face him fully, her eyes fierce. “Hey. Stop. Don’t you push me away just because you want to play the victim here, Jon. We don’t do that to each other.”

Jon huffed. 

She groaned. “Look-- feel however you want! Push Martin away, don’t push Martin away-- it’s up to you. I’ll- I’ll back off. But don’t shut me out. You-” she swallowed. “You’re my family, Jon. I don’t want to fight with you.”

Jon could not keep up his act in the face of her complete sincerity. He deflated, and put a hand on his forehead. “I… You’re right, Daisy. I’m sorry. I shouldn't have talked to you that way. Will you...forgive me?” he asked, meeting her gaze. 

She shrugged. “‘Course I will,” she said softly. “Get over here,” she said, and Jon let her wrap him in a hug. She put her chin on his head, and Jon imagined that this was what it was to have a big sister. Someone who was hard on you, but who loved you. Someone who would do anything for you. 

“I-- you’re my family too, you know,” Jon said, a little stilted. Her arms were still wrapped around him. 

Daisy chuckled. “I do know that, Jon. You, me, Willa-- isn’t that right? We’ve got each other’s backs,” she said easily, and Jon let that sink in deep, deep into the core of him. Let it permeate his bones until it became a fundamental truth of his existence: Jonathan Sims was a man with family. A man with people who cared about him. 

A man who was no longer alone. 

“I won’t lie, Georgie, it’s been… rough.”

Georgie popped a carrot in her mouth and motioned for him to continue. 

They were sitting on her couch, with the Admiral curled up on Jon’s lap. He’d forgotten how comforting it was sitting with a cat. 

“We’re awkward around each other, of course. But I-- I’m irritable, now. And impatient. I’m trying not to be, but it’s affecting the people around me. Then I just get frustrated with myself. And did I tell you Willa’s having trouble sleeping through the night now?”

Georgie shook her head. 

“The doctor says nothing’s physically wrong with her, luckily. But it doesn’t change the fact that it’s still happening.” Jon sighed. 

“I’m sorry, Jon.” Georgie frowned sympathetically. 

He shrugged. “Thanks for listening,” he said, stealing a carrot from her plate. “One of the worst things is that I just-- I just want to be his friend again. That’s all I want, just to be… around him. But I can’t, because if that happened, it-- it would just be too hard. So now I don’t know how to act around him.” he slumped down in his seat. 

“Can you… talk to him again? Maybe be honest about how absolutely terrible you feel without him in your life at all? You could lay out clear boundaries, to make it easier on you guys. Exercise good communication, for once,” Georgie said with a smile, nudging Jon with her elbow. 

“I don’t know… maybe. I’ll-- I’ll think about it,” he resolved. 

“Might do you some good,” she told him.

Georgie was right, as she often was. And it was a good idea, to talk to Martin again-- to try to find _some_ way of connecting with him.

And thinking back on how he’d treated Tim, how he’d acted around Sasha and Martin? His short temper with Daisy? His inability to help Willa? He needed to redefine his boundaries with all of them. He probably needed to apologize, too. 

He sighed, and resolved to talk to them all. Martin, especially. 

The next time he saw him, that’s what he would do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have a playlist for this fic which I used when writing and which also includes all of the songs from the beginning of each chapter, and it occurred to me that people might be interested in that! If you listen, please let me know what you think bc I love making playlists :)
> 
> [If for some reason the link doesn't work, the playlist is called Make This Place Beautiful and the user is thebonemoose](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4hITzhEhpWU4iqU01VS6WN?si=_cjCqiTqSFqZFWKilp2LFA)


	9. I Cannot Get You Close Enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin is injured (again) and Jon is...a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon has character flaws and I plan to think about them at length. 
> 
> I’d just like to take a moment to thank my beta reader who may or may not see this. Andy, you’re the best, thank you for taking my bastard sentences and making them readable <3

_Then it's just too much, I cannot get you close enough  
A hundred arms, a hundred years, you can always find me here  
And lord, don't let me break this, let me hold you lightly  
Give me arms to pray with instead of ones that hold too tightly_  
(100 Arms-- Florence + The Machine)

Jon wasn’t sure if it was just him, or if Elias was _actually_ becoming more insufferable as the days crept on. 

The meeting he just got out of had been both inane and a complete waste of time, and all Elias had done the entire time was continue to be smug and obnoxious. 

Jon sighed, and smiled politely to Rosie as he passed her. 

She sat up and leaned forward. “Oh, Mr. Sims! That was quite a bit of excitement, wasn’t it?” She said, her eyes wide.

Jon frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

She quirked her head. “That thing with Martin?”

Jon’s stomach dropped. “What thing with Martin?” He demanded.

“He almost got mugged! You didn’t hear?” Rosie gawked.

“Evidently not,” Jon heard himself saying distantly. “Excuse me, Rosie,” he told her, and hurried to the Archive. 

Nobody was at their desks, but Jon heard quiet talking from the breakroom. He rushed in, and found Martin sitting down and Tim cleaning his face. His heart caught in his throat.

“Jon!” Martin said, sitting up. Tim turned around, grimaced after seeing Jon, and passed Martin the wet cloth he’d been using. Then he made a swift exit with Sasha, who had been sitting at the table with Martin. 

“Martin,” Jon said breathlessly. He found himself standing in front of Martin with no memory of moving his legs.

“It’s… worse than it looks?” Martin said, wincing. He pressed the cloth to his forehead.

“What happened?” He asked softly. 

Martin chuckled. “Would you believe me if I told you it was kind of a funny story? I’m a bit mad at myself, actually. I was just… accosted, I suppose, by a group of totally mundane, non-supernatural people. No monsters, no worm ladies or cursed books— just… people who wanted my money. I mean— _what money_ , you know? Not that they could’ve known, I guess.”

“Mar _tin_ ,” Jon said, worried and fond in equal measures. 

Martin shrugged. “Anyways, there was an accident on the street, and they got distracted. I took a shot and ran. Didn’t stop running until I got to the Institute, actually. Scared Rosie half to death, I’m sure.” 

Jon’s nervous energy caught up to him, and he began pacing. “Martin, you can’t—“ he cut himself off with a frustrated groan.

“Can’t what, Jon?” Martin asked, boldly. 

“I— _Martin_ ,” Jon pleaded, though he had no idea what he was asking for. 

“ _Jon_ ,” Martin replied. 

Jon opened his mouth. “Look, I--”

Martin scoffed, then winced as the movement reopened one of his cuts. He touched a hand to his cheek, and felt the slick blood that remained on his fingertips. “Ah, shit,” he said quietly. 

Right. There was that thing that Jon had been trying quite hard not to think about. Martin had gotten hurt. _Again_.

Jon strode over again and leaned down, looking at Martin’s cut. “You don’t need to--” Martin cut himself off with a sigh. Jon was already staring intently at the blood on his face. He took the cloth from Martin. 

“Jon, I’m fine,” Martin dismissed.

Jon said nothing, just reached a hesitant hand out and to touch the area around the cut. Martin swatted his hand away angrily before he could. “Jon, I said it’s fine!”

“I know that!” Jon snapped before he could help himself. “I know you’re fine, alright? But I need to see for myself, so please just-- just let me look, Martin,” he said, his voice growing gradually softer. 

Martin exhaled, and nodded. Jon wiped the blood from Martin’s cut with tender, careful hands, and tried in vain to force his mind from the thought that if things had gone differently, Martin could have gotten badly hurt. He could have died. 

His fingers stilled, with Martin’s bandage halfway applied. Martin met Jon’s eyes, his expression unreadable. Jon’s breath was shaky, and suddenly all he could focus on was the seven centimeters of space between them. 

It was far, far too much. Jon couldn’t bear it. 

So he surged forward, his hands taking hold of Martin’s face as their lips met. Martin made a surprised “mmf!” noise, then his arms slid easily around Jon’s back. Jon leaned deeper into the embrace until all he knew--all he could make sense of-- was Martin. 

They parted, their foreheads still connected, breathing in the same space. Martin’s eyes opened, and he looked into Jon’s.

And oh. _Oh._

_Jon had royally fucked up._

Jon jerked back, his mouth falling open as he realized what he’d done. “Oh-- I-- Martin, I’m so sorry, I didn’t--” he fell over himself, attempting to apologize, or explain, or _something_.

But Martin had already closed himself off, avoiding Jon’s gaze. His expression was steely. “It’s fine. It… didn’t mean anything,” and Jon nearly bit his tongue to prevent himself from insisting that no, Martin it _did_.

It meant everything. 

But Jon… had made a mistake. He shouldn’t have kissed Martin. Not then, not when they were tense and tired, and Martin had just been through a traumatic event. And not after Jon already said he couldn’t enter into a relationship.

Jon watched, half in a daze, as Martin grabbed his coat and left the break room without another word to Jon. He stared after him, his body suddenly lonelier than it had been in years. He ached with the want of Martin beside him, just… nearby. That was all he wanted. And he could not have that. 

Jon left work early, glad that Daisy had taken Willa for the day so he did not need to check her out of daycare. He got in his car and mechanically drove home, feeling exhausted and guilty and frustrated and lonely and-- and angry. Very, very angry. Jon parked his car and slammed his hands on the steering wheel, willing the salty hot tears to keep from falling. 

It did not work. Jon pressed a hand to his mouth and slowly exhaled, stifling a sob as best he knew how. 

He couldn’t do this with Martin. He would beat it into his own head if he had to. Willa-- Willa needed him. He had to do this, for Willa. Had to-- to refrain. For her sake.


	10. A Matter of Whom, A Matter of When

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daisy and Basira get together, Jon has a nice day with Willa, and realizes some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter for y'all today :0  
> Enjoy the extra words I hope they are..... como se dice.... deloishus.

_And it's been a long time since before I've been touched  
Now I'm getting touched all the time  
And it's only a matter of whom  
And it's only a matter of when_  
(Dance Anthem of the 80s-- Regina Spektor)

Jon was not sure when it had happened, but Daisy and Basira had gotten together. It was their ‘time’, he supposed. 

Basira spent more time at their flat now, which Jon didn’t actually mind. He liked Basira; she was his friend. And the two of them spent almost as much time with Willa as they spent alone together, which Jon appreciated both because Willa adored them and because it allowed Jon a bit of space for himself. 

Truthfully? It was nice to see Daisy so happy. She and Basira were good for each other. They just… worked. 

He came home from work after a particularly exhausting day of recording statements and feeling terrible about his relationship with Martin, intent on collapsing on the couch and not moving until dinner time. Willa had fallen asleep on the ride home, so Jon carried her up and unlocked the door as quietly as he could. 

When he got in, the first thing he saw was Basira and Daisy on the couch together. Basira was engrossed in a book, and Daisy was embroidering while the TV played quietly in the background. It was adorably domestic, and he smiled without even meaning to. 

“What are you grinning about?” Daisy muttered darkly, although Jon knew her surly act would drop the minute Willa woke up. 

“I’m happy for you,” Jon replied simply, depositing Willa’s bag by the front entrance and toeing off his shoes.

“Nonsense.” Daisy glared. She stabbed the needle into her fabric with particular aggression.

Basira chuckled and nudged Daisy with her foot. “How was work, Jon?” 

Jon collapsed on the other sofa, Willa still sleeping peacefully on his chest. “Well, I don’t want to say terrible… But it was. It was terrible.”

Basira grimaced in sympathy, and Daisy looked at him over the tops of her reading glasses. 

“Still having boy troubles?” Daisy asked evenly.

Jon threw a pillow at her. Daisy caught it in mid-air, annoyingly. “Don’t start fights you can’t finish, Jon,” She warned with a mischievous glint in her eye. 

Jon did not throw any more pillows at her. 

“Is it still awkward with Sasha and Tim?” Basira asked, putting a bookmark in her book and setting it on the end table. 

Jon sighed. “Somewhat. Tim’s not mad at me anymore, and Sasha never truly was. Still not the most comfortable work environment, though,” he said. 

Willa rubbed her eyes and sat up. 

“Have you rejoined the land of the conscious?” Jon asked, and she blinked. She looked around, and slid off the couch, then clambered up to sit against Daisy. 

“Hold on, love, I’ve got needles,” Daisy said, passing her embroidery to Basira, who put it on the end table with her book. 

“Pokey,” Willa mumbled, and Daisy wrapped her arm around her until Willa was tucked against her. 

“Very pokey,” Daisy agreed. Willa seemed to fall back asleep.

“I have only myself to blame,” Jon said quietly. 

“Because you kissed Martin?” Basira asked bluntly. 

Jon grimaced, but nodded. 

“Will you allow me to reiterate something that I’m right about, but you’re not willing to address yet?” Daisy said, raising an eyebrow at Jon. 

He rolled his eyes. “If I say yes, will you stop beating this dead horse?” 

She shrugged. “I’ll give you a break, at least,” Daisy offered. 

Jon sighed. “Proceed.”

“You are actively preventing yourself from being happy. I truly have no idea why, Jon, but that is what you’re doing. And I know you think it’s for Willa’s sake, but Jon, I’m not so sure that it is. I think you’re just afraid.” 

Jon britsled, but said nothing. 

“I love you Jon, but you’re making poor decisions.” Daisy looked at him for a moment. “Alright, I’m done. I’ll ease up, now.” 

He nodded at her, just once. “I’m going to take a nap,” he announced, and moved to his room. Daisy and Basira didn’t speak, and Jon closed the door behind him. He laid down on his bed and sighed. 

What Daisy had said-- she wasn’t entirely wrong. Jon _was_ making himself unhappy. But there was no alternative. The reason he was unhappy was because his relationship with Martin was fractured, and it was his fault. He could not date him, which-- alright, fine. Jon could live with that. 

But he also could not just be Martin’s friend, based on his own prior actions. And Martin was suffering from that, which only broke Jon’s heart more. Jon would love to stop making himself unhappy, would love to stop torturing himself everytime he looked at Martin and willed him to look back, to smile at Jon, to give him _anything_.

But he never did, so Jon supposed that was what he deserved. 

The next day was a Saturday, thankfully. Jon promised Willa they would eat waffles and go to the cemetery to see Simone. 

Jon made extra waffles, in case Daisy and Basira were around. Willa was “helping,” meaning she was using a whisk and a bowl to mix air while wearing an apron that was entirely too big for her. 

“Alright, dear, breakfast is ready,” Jon said, bringing a plate of waffles to the table. He gave Willa a plastic plate and fork to bring to the table for herself. Willa sat in her chair, fidgeting with a wide grin on her face. “Are you excited, Willa?” Jon asked, amused. 

“Yeah! I love waffles!” Willa said, throwing her arms up. Jon laughed as he cut and prepared her waffle for her, and added some sliced strawberries on top. 

“Bon Appetit,” Jon said, and she dug in. 

Jon sat in his own chair with a sigh, and picked up his fork. 

“Psst, Jon!” he heard Basira whisper. He turned around, and saw her peeking out of Daisy’s room, wrapped in a blanket. “Did you make waffles?”

He nodded, laughing. “There’s plenty, if you want some.”

Basira grinned. “Give me a minute,” she said, and disappeared back into Daisy’s room. She emerged a few seconds later, and grabbed herself a plate, then sat down beside Jon. 

“You didn’t want to wake Daisy?” Jon asked. 

Basira snorted. “No. Have you ever tried to wake that woman up? It’s a nightmare. She’s on her own,” Basira said, then smiled at Willa. “Good morning, love.”

Willa grinned widely. This was very gross, because her mouth was full of half-chewed waffle. 

“Hm. Yucky,” Basira remarked with a smile, and began eating. 

Daisy did come out a few minutes later. She was extremely sleepy, and trudged out with her eyes nearly shut. She mechanically took a plate and served herself some waffles, taking a seat beside Basira. 

“Good morning,” Jon said. 

“Eurrgh,” groaned Daisy. She wasted no time scarfing down breakfast, then mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’ to Jon for breakfast. 

Willa grabbed a strawberry from her plate and held it out to Daisy. “Staw-bey,” she said, and Daisy took it.

“Thanks, kiddo.” 

Willa finished not long after, and Basira offered to do the washing up so Jon and Willa could get going on their day. 

Jon gave Willa a bath (which was always an ordeal), combed and braided her hair, and got her dressed. Then he passed her off to Basira so he could get ready. 

When he was showered and dressed, he walked out to the living room with his hair brush, and heard Willa singing Basira the Alphabet Song. 

“-Aaaaand Z!” Willa sang, throwing her arms out theatrically. 

Basira clapped. “Well done, Willa,” she said.

Jon threw his hair up and took Willa in his arms. “Are you showing Basira the alphabet?” He asked.

Willa nodded. “I’m singing!” 

Jon smiled. “You sure are. Ready to go, love?” 

“Yeah!”

Willa continued singing on the ride to the cemetery. Unfortunately, she only sang one song, and there were only so many times a person could listen to the Alphabet Song before they felt a bit like their brain was going to dribble out of their ears. Still, he admired her unwavering enthusiasm.

It was drizzling when they got out of the car, and Jon wished he’d brought an umbrella. “It’s a bit wet, isn’t it?” Jon said.

Willa nodded.

They walked hand-in-hand to Simone’s grave. “What should we tell her about, Willa?”

“Um… we had waffles today?” Willa offered.

“Good idea, Willa. We had waffles for breakfast today, Simone. Did you like them, Willa?”

“Mhmm!”

“And… what did you do with Basira?”

“I sang ABCs!”

“And was it fun?” 

“Yeah! Lots of fun.”

“And you’ve been doing a great job learning to write your letters, haven’t you?” Jon asked, squeezing Willa’s hand.

“Yeah…” Willa said, bashful. 

“Is there anything else you want to tell Mummy?”

“Um… I love you Mummy, I miss you,” Willa said. Her eyes were wet. Jon picked her up and held her as she sniffled. 

“Okay, honey. Let’s say goodbye to Mummy,” he said.

Willa waved and blew a kiss, and they walked back to Jon’s car. Once they were inside, Jon took a cd out of the glove box. 

“I found this the other day,” he told Willa. “It’s a CD from your mom. Do you want to listen to it?”

She nodded. Her eyes wide. Jon inserted the CD into the player. 

“Hi, baby! I made this to share some of my favorite songs with you. This song is actually the first song you heard as a baby after I took you home from the hospital…” 

The song that played next was Your Song, by Elton John. Willa listened with rapt attention for the entire duration, and then asked Jon to play it again when it was over.

Willa wanted to listen to it again when they were home, and Jon promised to play it for her while they ate lunch. 

After lunch it was time for Willa’s nap, and Jon settled on the couch with a book after tucking her in. He read for a few hours, and enjoyed having the quiet flat to himself.

Basira came in at around four, and carted in some grocery bags. 

“What did you and Daisy do today?” Jon asked, hopping up to help with the bags.

Basira shrugged and began putting items away. “Not much. Shopping, mostly.”

Jon hummed. “Where’s Daisy?”

“She ran down to the hardware store. We’re gonna build Willa a bed.”

“What?” Jon looked at her, a box of pasta in his hands.

Basira nodded. “She’s going to grow out of the crib soon, and Daisy wanted to do something nice for you,” she said easily. “Though, technically, it’s something nice for Willa.”

Jon couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, nor the warmth blooming in his chest. “Oh,” he said, dumbly. “Thank you.”

She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”

They put the rest of the groceries away, and then started watching a movie Basira put on.

“This movie is shit,” she said, after five minutes.

Jon nodded. “Well, I wasn’t going to say it, but… yes.”

She scoffed. “How are there already plot holes?”

“Terrible writing?” Jon offered. 

Basira snorted. She stood and walked to the bathroom, then came back with a bottle of blue nail polish in her hand. She sat on the floor and began painting her fingernails. 

“Daddy?” Willa said, appearing from the doorway of the room. She rubbed her eyes.

“Hey, Willa,” Jon said, smiling. Willa climbed up and sat beside Jon on the couch. 

“What are you watching?” Willa asked.

“A bad movie,” Basira chuckled.

Willa frowned, confused. “Why is it bad?”

“We just don’t like the story very much,” Jon explained. 

Willa leaned forward. “What are you doing, B’sira?”

“Painting my nails,” she answered simply, dipping the brush into the bottle again.

“Can I see?” 

Basira nodded. “Come on down. I’m on my last nail, though.”

Willa squatted down beside Basira, watching intently as she painted. “It’s pretty,” she said.

“Thanks, Willa,” Basira replied, smiling. She held up a hand. “All done.”

Willa looked up at her. “Can I try?” 

Basira nodded. “It’s easier to paint someone else’s nails than your own, though. Want to ask your dad if you can paint his?” 

Willa nodded. “Daddy, can I paint your nails?” 

Jon chuckled, and nodded. “Sure, love. Let’s go to the table, so we don’t make a mess. “

Jon grabbed a magazine to paint on, and he and Willa sat at the table. Willa’s strokes were clumsy and thick, and Jon’s entire cuticles were colored blue by the end, but Willa was very pleased with the results, and dragged Basira over to see her handiwork.

“Oh, well done, Wils!” Basira grinned.

Daisy entered then, and Willa excitedly directed her to Jon’s nails. “Daisy, look!” 

Daisy peered down, and raised her eyebrows. “Impressive work, kid,” she said, and gave Willa a high five. 

Jon waved his hand through the air in an effort to speed up the paint-drying process, and Daisy smirked at him. 

Daisy had bought dinner when she was out, so the four of them ate a bit early. Willa got sleepy only an hour or so after they finished eating, so she said goodnight to Daisy and Basira and Jon helped her get ready for bed. 

“Can you sing me that song?” Willa asked, when she had been tucked in. Jon was grateful that Daisy and Basira were making her a bed; she was getting much too big for the crib. 

“The one from the car?”

Willa nodded. 

“Alright,” Jon said, and began to sing. She was asleep before the first chorus.

Jon emerged from his bedroom and saw Basira and Daisy occupying one of the couches. Daisy’s head was in Basira’s lap, and Basira was idly playing with Daisy’s hair as she read on her phone. 

Jon tried to stifle his smile, but he was fairly sure Daisy saw anyway. She was too comfortable to say anything, thankfully. 

“The nails are a good look on you,” Basira said, when Jon had taken a seat on the other sofa. 

“Thanks. She did a pretty good job, for a three-year-old,” Jon said, once more admiring his nails. 

“You want to join the blue nail club, Daisy?” Basira joked, nudging Daisy. 

Daisy grumbled, her eyes shut. “No. Quit moving.”

Basira flicked Daisy’s cheek, and Daisy’s eyes opened wide. She tried to grab Basira’s phone from her in revenge, but Basira stretched away, giggling as Daisy struggled in vain. 

“Jon, take it!” Basira shrieked, and Jon reached out before Daisy rounded on him, her eyes alight. 

“Don’t you dare,” she nearly growled, and Jon grinned, and winked as he took the phone from Basira. 

“Cheaters, the both of you,” Daisy said, and Basira swatted her in the face with a throw pillow. 

“Another win for the blue nail club,” Basira laughed, and Jon handed her phone back to her. 

They spent the next hour chatting, but the frequency of Jon’s yawns kept increasing until Basira and Daisy demanded he go to bed. He went through the motions of his nightly routine, and collapsed into bed in exhaustion. 

Try as he might, however, he couldn’t fall asleep. Something was bothering him. 

Daisy. Daisy was bothering him. Specifically, what she had said to him. 

She was… reserved. To anyone except Jon, Basira, and Willa, Daisy was all hard edges and sharp teeth. She wasn’t nice, she wasn’t friendly, she was a knife suspended by a string. Potential energy at its finest and most threatening. 

But she let her guard down with Basira, with Jon and Willa. She was so… _gentle_. Her softness bled outward when she was at home. The rough exterior faded. She could be still. 

More than that, she could be playful. Jon could not have imagined Daisy playing keep-away with a cellphone before she met Willa. He didn’t know if Willa had really had so significant of an impact on Daisy, but he did know that Daisy was a different person around her. 

There was a little voice in Jon’s head that sounded _a lot_ like Georgie, telling him that being a parent changes you. And so does being in a relationship. 

And… every other couple with kids managed to do it, though, hadn’t they? Even the ones who got together when one of them was already a parent. They figured it out.

Jon had this sinking feeling in his chest that he was a damned fool, and that Daisy had been right. 

There really was no reason not to-- to _try_ with Martin. He was only causing them both to suffer. And for what? Because he mistakenly thought it would be better for Willa?

No. Jon had been using her as an excuse, he saw now. And a poorly constructed one, at that. He was afraid. That was the simple truth. His feelings for Martin were deeper and more intense than he’d ever experienced. 

Willa and Jon would be alright, they were solid. 

For now… he had work to do. 

Jon was nowhere near as good of a tea-maker as Martin, he knew that. But hopefully the meaning of the gesture would be more important than the tea itself. 

Jon sighed. Who was he kidding? It was _Martin_. There was no way the tea would be less important. Should he make it all over again? He glanced at the clock. No, there was no time. He had to bring Martin his tea before Martin got up to make tea for himself, Tim, and Sasha, or else he’ll have missed his chance. 

Jon finished stirring, and took the mug. He walked slowly and deliberately to Martin’s desk, and set the mug down. 

Martin’s hands froze on the keyboard. He stared, wide-eyed at the mug. 

Tim and Sasha gaped from their own desks. 

“Brought you some tea,” Jon said, trying for casual. It did not work. 

Martin met Jon’s gaze. “...Thanks,” he said quietly, his cheeks pink. 

It was adorable. Jon was in love with him-- _whoops,_ okay, not the time for _that_ realization. 

Jon swallowed thickly, his heart doing its best to escape from his ribcage. He nodded, and it was stilted and awkward. 

“N-no problem,” he replied. He tapped his fingers lightly on the desk, and shrugged. 

_Oh my god, stop being awkward you DISASTER._

He smiled politely, and walked back to his office, where he buried his head in his hands and groaned. 

There was a knock at his door. 

“Ahem-- er, yes?” Jon said. 

Tim and Sasha opened the door and stepped inside. “What… was that?” Tim asked with an unexpected intensity. 

Jon cringed. “That was… a gesture?” 

Sasha grimaced. 

Tim narrowed his eyes at Jon. “That… was the most painfully awkward thing I have _ever_ seen, Jonathan! You should have asked for our help!”

“I thought it would cheapen it if I got help!” he defended. 

“What’s cheap is your little--” Tim adopted an expression and posture that was clearly supposed to imitate Jon, “oh uh h-hey, brought you some tea, Martin, haha-- Fucking terrible, Jon!” Tim slapped the desk. 

Jon stood up. “Wha- I tried my best!”

“ _That_ was your _best_?!” Tim shrieked. 

Jon buried his face in his hands and groaned. “Look I-- I don’t know what to do, alright. I thought… I thought it was a good start, at least.” he slumped in his chair. 

Sasha sat on the desk and patted Jon’s arm. “What Tim and I think of it matters much less than what Martin thinks, Jon.”

Jon looked up at her hopefully. “Wh- what does Martin think?”

Sasha shrugged. “Well, judging by the way he stared after you with a lovesick expression, and then held the mug to his chest with just the _sappiest_ face you ever saw-- I think he liked it.”

Jon let out a relieved exhale, and grinned. “Oh. That’s good,” he said. 

Tim groaned. “I swear, Jon, if you two don’t live happily ever _fucking_ after, I’m suing you for emotional damages,” he said, and walked out. 

Sasha turned to Jon and squeezed his hand, then followed after. 

Jon smiled to himself. 

Over the next few weeks, Jon continued to give Martin small gestures. Tea, primarily. Martin even started bringing Jon tea in the afternoons to reciprocate. The first time Martin had knocked on Jon’s door with a mug in his hand, blushing slightly, Jon almost told him he loved him right then and there. 

But he didn’t. He was waiting. 

Slowly, Jon and Martin became more comfortable around each other, until the four of them could go out for drinks after work, like they used to. Jon even invited the three of them over for dinner sometimes, to Willa’s great joy. 

Martin and Jon were _friends again_. They were comfortable around each other; something Jon vowed never to take for granted again. 

Except every time Martin smiled at him, or got his attention with a touch on the arm, or made Willa laugh-- all Jon could think about was how much he loved Martin, how much he wanted to be around him all the time, or embrace him. 

Jon sat at the table, nursing a cup of tea. It wasn’t as good as Martin made, but then again, nothing ever was. It was a Sunday, and Daisy and Willa were napping on the couch. A storm thundered on outside, and Jon was trying very hard to talk himself out of doing something stupid. 

_Fuck it_.

Jon wrote on a sticky note and stuck it to Daisy’s forehead. He grabbed his coat and keys, and left. 

_Dear Daisy,  
You were right. I was being an idiot. I’m going to go do something dumb, I’ll be back later. _

_Love you both,  
Jon _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daisy has reading glasses in this bc the mental image of her doing embroidery and looking at Jon over her glasses…. Too powerful. 
> 
> Jonny Sims: oops basira and jon…. Aren’t friends :///  
> Me: this sign can’t stop me because I can’t read


	11. Better Than I Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Martin have a conversation. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when my beta read this for me it was only 700 words, but then I wrote a bunch more and now over half of this is unbeta-ed. Oops.

_Look what you're doing to me  
Ooh your love is better than I remember  
And why did you leave off me loving you?  
Why you just looking me over?  
Look what you're doing to me_  
(Look What You’re Doing To Me-- BANKS)

Martin was dozing on the couch when there was a knock at his front door. He groaned. Getting up was _not_ on his list of acceptable activities at that moment. Still, Martin stood, then trudged to his door and opened it.

Behind it was Jon: soaking wet and shivering, staring at Martin with wide eyes. 

“Jon!” Martin exclaimed, fully taking in the scene before him. Jon looked like a drowned rat. “Are you alright?” 

Jon nodded, his eyes still wide. Martin could practically see the restless energy that was barely contained in his body.

Jon swallowed thickly. “I— um. I had a speech. But I’ve… well, I’ve forgotten it,” he said, a little breathless.

“Oh.” Martin blinked. “A speech?” He smiled, bemused.

Jon ran a hand through his soaking hair. “A… confession, of sorts.” He put his hands out in front of him. “Look, Martin,” he said earnestly. “I understand if you don’t— if I’m too _late_ , or-- if I’ve pushed you too far, but I--” Jon broke off, frustrated. 

Martin stifled a fond smile at Jon’s perturbed expression. “Why don’t you come in,” he said gently, “And I’ll make us some tea.”

Jon blinked, then nodded, wringing his hands. Martin stepped aside and let Jon in. 

“Oh-- I’m dripping all over your floor,” Jon said apologetically. He lifted a soaked leg, and put it back down again. There was a soft, wet _squish_

Martin was unfazed. “I’ll grab you a towel,” he said easily. “It’s really coming down out there, eh?” He took a towel from the linen closet.

Jon nodded absently, and accepted the towel. “Thanks,” he said quietly. He started drying the ends of his hair.

“Er-- do you want some dry clothes? You’re shivering,” Martin asked, and could not keep the concern from coloring his voice.

“Oh— I mean, if you don’t mind,” Jon replied, and Martin was glad for the opportunity to retreat into his room and get a moment of reprieve from Jon looking at him like _that_. 

He grabbed some joggers with a drawstring, socks, and his comfiest jumper, then handed them to Jon. He directed Jon to the bathroom, and all but ran to the kitchen to get started on the tea.

He exhaled and grabbed some mugs. Things had been better between the two of them lately, sure, but Martin still hadn’t expected Jon to show up at his home. He especially hadn’t expected Jon to show up at Martin’s home looking so _pitiful_.

Martin shook his head to clear it. _Whatever_ was going on, Martin was determined to be as normal as possible. Hopefully it would help Jon feel more at ease and less like live wire. 

He was stirring in sugar and milk when Jon came padding quietly into the kitchen on socked feet. The legs of the joggers were too long, as were the jumper sleeves, so Jon had rolled them up. 

It was adorable. Martin was really struggling. 

He turned back to his tea and kept stirring. Martin could feel Jon’s intent gaze, and was acutely aware of Jon’s steady, quiet presence beside him. 

Now Martin was the one who felt jumpy. 

“I think,” Jon spoke quietly, and placed his hand over the one Martin was using to stir tea. His nails were painted blue.“...I have been very stupid.”

Martin could scarcely breathe. “Is that so?” he asked, just as quiet. He removed his hand from the spoon and turned it over, so that Jon’s hand slid along his, and they were palm-to-palm. Jon’s hand was soft and cool. 

“Yes,” he whispered, and he was suddenly closer than he was a second ago. His eyes burned holes into Martin. 

Martin’s gaze flicked down to Jon’s lips. Jon tilted his head up, almost imperceptibly. 

Martin interlaced their fingers and used their clasped hands to pull Jon closer, bringing his hand to Jon’s face. He opened his mouth, but before he could ask his question, Jon just nodded, his eyes on Martin’s lips. Jon leaned in, and Martin kissed him. 

Jon melted fully into Martin’s embrace. He unlaced their fingers so he could use both his hands to pull Martin closer. One of Martin’s arms was wrapped around Jon’s waist, the other caressed his jaw. 

When they pulled apart, they were both breathless. 

“I love you,” Martin said simply. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Jon grinned and shook his head. “Not at all,” he replied, and kissed him again. 

As it turned out, Jon was a very good cuddler. 

Martin knew this because Jon was currently pressed against him, sleeping peacefully. Martin tried to stifle his grin, but could not. Jon mumbled quietly, and Martin pressed a kiss to the top of his head. 

It had stopped raining. It was still wet and overcast, but the storm was over. Martin fiddled with the tail end of a poem in his head for a few moments, then abandoned it. He wasn’t going to force anything. 

Jon gave a contented sigh, and Martin grabbed the hand that was resting on Martin’s chest and pressed a kiss to the palm. 

“Hi,” Jon said, his voice raspy from sleep. 

“Hey,” Martin replied quietly. Then he saw the time. “Er, not to kick you out, or anything, but do you need to leave?” he asked. 

Jon frowned and glanced at the clock. “Oh. Shit. Probably.” he reluctantly removed himself from Martin’s side, and Martin tried very hard not to miss him. 

It didn’t quite work. 

“Oh-- should I give these back to you?” Jon asked, pulling lightly at the jumper he’d borrowed. 

Martin didn’t even need to think. “No,” he said. “You can keep them.” He sat up and ran a hand through his hair. 

Jon grinned, and leaned down to peck Martin on the lips. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

Martin loved him. He loved him, he loved him, he loved him. 

Jon grabbed the bag of his soaked clothes and put on his shoes. “I guess I’m off,” he said, a bit disappointed. Martin walked over to him and pulled him into an embrace. 

“Hey,” Jon said, when they had pulled apart.

“Hm?” 

“I love you,” Jon told him, and Martin kissed him soundly. 

“Love you, too,” he returned, breathless. 

Jon smiled again, and left Martin’s flat with a small, awkward wave. 

Martin gently closed his door and leaned his forehead against it. A laugh bubbled out of him, and his cheeks began to hurt from smiling. 

Then his phone buzzed, and he glanced at the screen. 

**Jon: Is it bad that I miss you already?**

**Martin: Yeah :/**

**Martin: I guess we’ll have to be seeing much more of each other to cope.**

**Jon: Oh, no. What a terrible and not at all welcome development.**

Martin laughed again. 

**Martin: Well… there are worse things.**

Jon closed his front door behind him and leaned against it. He knew he was probably grinning like a fool, but he couldn’t force himself to stop.

He looked up, and saw Daisy, Basira, and Willa all watching him with wide eyes. 

“Hello,” he said simply. 

“Hi, Daddy,” Willa replied, and walked over. He picked her up. 

“Hey, Jon,” Basira said carefully, her eyes narrowed. Daisy was silent. 

“Basira.” Jon nodded. He sat on the couch.

“You did it,” Daisy said suddenly. Basira turned to her, surprised.

“Did what?” Jon asked innocently. 

“Don’t play coy with me, you little monster,” Daisy said, brandishing the sticky note. “It went well, then?”

Basira wheeled back around to Jon. 

Jon shrugged. “It was fine.”

Daisy scoffed. “‘Fine’ my ass.”

“Daisy said a bad word,” Willa chimed in. 

Jon nodded. “She sure did, Wils,”

“Okay, enough. Will you please fill me in? Daisy’s refusing to tell me anything,” Basira said, and Jon chuckled. 

“I went to see Martin.”

Basira’s jaw dropped. “You did? How did it go?”

“Basira, he leaned against the door and _giggled_ when he came in, it had to have gone well. And he’s wearing different clothes.”

Jon rolled his eyes. “That’s because it was _raining,_ Daisy.”

“They’re still Martin’s clothes,” Daisy replied. 

“...It went well,” Jon said finally, and Basira grinned. 

“Okay, legally, you have to tell me everything.”

Jon shrugged. “He gave me clothes, we had tea, we took a nap.” 

Daisy nodded approvingly.

“What? What happened?” Willa asked, frowning. 

Daisy and Basira glanced at each other. 

Jon furrowed his brows. “You know how Daisy and Basira are together?” he asked. 

Willa nodded.

“Well… Martin and I are together now, too,” Jon explained. 

“You love Martin?” Willa asked. 

“Yes. Very much,” he said softly, and Willa blinked, then laid her head on his chest. 

“Mmkay,” she said, and yawned. She was asleep in moments. 

“That was adorable,” Daisy said quietly. Jon smiled at her. 

Jon carted her off to bed, and returned to the ladies. 

Daisy immediately enveloped Jon in a hug. When she pulled away, she grabbed his face between her hands. “You should listen to me more,” she told him, and planted a firm kiss on his forehead.

“Alright, alright,” he grumbled, but Daisy wasn’t fooled, judging by her fond smile. 

Basira left shortly after, and Jon turned in, too. As he pulled the blankets up to his chin, with his daughter slumbering peacefully a short distance away, he realized that he hadn’t known it was possible for a person to be this happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We did it, y'all. Just the Epilogue left. I hope this resolution was satisfying, and I'd like to thank everybody who read and gave kudos and commented. It meant a lot :)


	12. Stay With Me, Hold My Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four years later, Willa has a birthday party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ben Wyatt voice* it’s about the _**found family**_

_And we're not out of the tunnel  
I bet you though there's an end  
Stay with me  
Hold my hand  
There's no need  
To be brave_  
(I Will-- Mitski)

Jon woke up to a bony knee straight to his abdomen. He wheezed, and heard a small “oops, sorry, Daddy!”

Jon chuckled and cracked one eye open. Willa was grinning up at him with a gap-toothed smile. Jon reached down and pulled her up beside him. 

“Good morning, love. Happy birthday,” he whispered, and she giggled. 

“Thank you,” she grinned. 

“Should we wake up Papa?” Jon asked, and Willa nodded. She scooched over until she was pressed against Martin’s side. 

Willa reached out a finger and slid open one of Martin’s eyes. “Papa! Wake up! I’m seven!” she whispered. 

Martin grumbled, but did not awaken. 

Willa poked him in the cheek. “Papaaaa,” she whined. “Wake up!”

Martin still did not move. Willa frowned. 

“Tricked you,” Martin said suddenly, opening his eyes wide. 

Willa laughed and threw her arms around Martin. Jon smiled at his husband and their daughter. 

“Happy birthday, Willa!” Martin said, and kissed Willa’s hair. 

Willa hugged him tighter. 

“Are you excited to be seven?” Martin asked.

Willa nodded emphatically.”Yes! And guess what, Papa?”

Martin grinned. “What?”

Willa opened her mouth and pointed inside. “Ah have a wiggly toof!” 

Martin gasped. “You do?”

“Yep!”

“My goodness, you _are_ getting big,” Martin said. 

Jon caught Martin’s eye over Willa’s head, and Martin winked at him. “Do you know what big kids get on their birthdays?” Jon asked. 

She frowned. “Um, presents?”

“Tickled!” Martin said, and he and Jon unleashed a tickle attack. Willa shrieked in delight and began squirming around. 

When Willa was tired, Jon and Martin picked her up and carted her out to the living room before dumping her unceremoniously on the sofa, still giggling. 

“What would you like for breakfast, Wils?” Martin asked. 

“Ice cream,” she said definitively, her eyes intense. 

“Hmm… What about cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate?” Jon offered.

Willa’s eyes widened, and she gasped. “YES!”

“Right away, your highness!” Martin said, saluting her. Willa just giggled.

Jon patted her hair. “How about you get dressed, and when you’re out, we’ll have breakfast together?” 

Willa agreed readily, and ran to her room to get ready. The cinnamon rolls did not take long to make, and they were out of the oven and being frosted by the time she was done.

She stared at Martin as he spread frosting, and she licked her lips. “Papa!” she whispered. 

“Hmm?”

“Can I have some frosting?” she pleaded. 

Martin chuckled, and handed over the spatula he’d used, still dripping with frosting. “Go nuts, love,” he said, prompting her to squeal and jump up and down. 

Martin set the table and dished everyone up their cinnamon rolls. Willa began scarfing down hers immediately, and Jon had to gently remind her to eat slowly so she wouldn’t get hiccups. 

She took a brief break to gulp down half of her hot chocolate at once. 

Martin and Jon looked at each other. She was going to be hyper later, that was for sure. 

After breakfast, Jon started doing Willa’s hair while Martin got dressed. Willa was bouncing off the walls, practically vibrating with excitement and anticipation. It made styling her hair very difficult, but Jon had lots of practice. 

“What time is it?” she asked Jon, for the fifteenth time. 

“11:50,” he replied.

“And when are they getting here?” she asked, turning back to him. He gently nudged her until she was facing forward again.

“12:00.”

She sighed. “Ten more minutes?”

“Ten more minutes, Wils.”

There was a knock at the door. 

Willa gasped and sat up straight. “It’s been ten minutes _already_?!” she shouted. “Daddy, can I go get it?” Wlla begged, staring at him with puppy-dog eyes. 

Jon stifled a grin, and nodded. 

Willa beamed, then ran to the front door and threw it open. 

Daisy frowned down at her. “Young lady,” she said, stepping in. “Have you seen a little girl named Willa anywhere? She’s about this high,” Daisy said, and held her hand roughly twenty centimeters off the ground. “She’s my niece, you see, and it’s her birthday. She’s turning-- how old will she be, Basira?” Daisy asked, turning to Basira. 

“Oh, around four, I think. Or was it five?” Basira asked, touching a finger to her chin. 

“Daisy! You know it’s me! And I’m not four, Basira, I’m SEVEN!” she shouted joyfully. 

Daisy smacked her forehead. “Oh, of course! How could I have been so foolish. You’re just so tall, you had me convinced,” she said, then held her arms open wide. Willa wasted no time jumping into them, and Daisy hoisted her up to Willa’s complete delight. 

Basira chuckled, and Martin reappeared, toweling off his hair. “You guys are here early,” he said, greeting them both. 

“ _Somebody_ couldn’t wait to give Willa her gift,” Basira said, nodding towards Daisy and Willa, engaged in some precarious-looking acrobatics. 

Jon stood beside Martin and greeted Basira. He figured he’d wait until Daisy and Willa were done defying the laws of physics to approach them. 

“When are Tim and Sasha getting here?” Basira asked Jon. 

He shrugged. “Soon, I think. Although, who really knows, with Tim,” he laughed. 

“Sasha should keep him in line. Plus, Tim would _never_ miss Willa’s birthday,” Martin added. 

Willa perked up from her spot dangling by the feet from Daisy’s shoulders. “Tim’s here?” she asked.

Basira shook her head. “Not yet, bean.”

“Aww,” Willa said, and resumed her roughhousing with Daisy. 

There was a knock at the door a few minutes later, but Willa was too busy being tickled to notice. 

Jon opened it, and Tim grinned back at him. “Are we the first ones here?” he asked, and Jon shook his head. 

“Damn it,” Tim swore, and Sasha elbowed him in the ribs. 

“Willa, look who’s here,” Jon sang, and Willa froze.  
“TIM!” she screamed, and jumped away from Daisy to latch herself onto Tim like an octopus. He leaned back with the momentum, and almost overbalanced, but Martin grabbed him until he was sturdy. Tim shot Martin a grateful expression, and then turned his full attention on Willa. 

“Willa!” he yelled. 

“What?”

“Happy birthday!”

She grinned. “Thank you! Can you carry me?” she begged, and Daisy squawked. 

“What am I, chopped liver?” she asked from the floor, a thin layer of sweat on her forehead. She was breathing heavily, although she’d kill anyone who brought it up. Jon hid a smile. 

“He’s tall!” Willa justified, and clambered over Tim like a tree. 

“So am I!” Daisy shouted lightheartedly, and Willa laughed. 

Georgie and Melanie arrived not much later, and they all ate lunch together. Willa was content to be the star of the show, as always, and relished the attention she was getting. They had simple sandwiches with crisps, and afterwards Willa went around showing everyone her wiggly tooth. 

They were all appropriately impressed. 

“Willa,” Melanie said, and Willa walked back to Melanie’s spot. “Are any of your friends going to come to your party today?”

Willa shook her head. “No, I wanted this one to be just for family,” she explained. 

Martin caught Jon’s eye and smiled. Jon squeezed his hand. He would never get tired of Willa referring to this hodge-podge group of people as her _family._

Willa opened her presents after lunch, and she only got more excited as she opened each gift. Books, nail polish, dolls, Legos, art supplies-- all things she was ecstatic to use. After she and Jon cleaned up the present wrappers, Willa spent the two hours thoroughly analysing each item while the adults talked. 

After those two hours, though, it was like a timer went off in her body, and she started nodding off. She curled up between Melanie and Georgie and promptly fell asleep. 

Martin took many pictures, because he was a softie. Jon fiddled with his wedding ring and grinned at his husband. 

She didn’t nap for too long, though, because Tim and Sasha had to wake her up to say their goodbyes. She wiped her eyes and yawned as she hugged them, and Sasha wished her happy birthday one more time before leaving. 

“Do you have to go, too?” Willa asked Georgie, who was petting her hair. Georgie nodded, regretful. 

“Yeah, honey. We’ve got to make sure the Admiral’s doing alright.”

“Well you could just ch--” she yawned, “--check on him and come back,” Willa insisted. Melanie shook her head. 

“Not this time, love. But I hope you’ve had a very special birthday. We love you.” Melanie pulled her into a hug. Willa said goodbye to Georgie and Melanie, and came to sit between Martin and Basira. 

“Can you and Daisy stay longer?” Willa asked hopefully. 

Jon could tell by the look on Basira’s face that she and Daisy were intending to leave, but she could not bring herself to say no to Willa. “Just a bit longer,” she said, and Willa smiled brightly. 

Martin and Jon looked at each other. Willa could conquer the world someday and they would not be surprised in the slightest. 

Daisy and Basira kept their word, and stayed for just a bit longer. Willa was sad to see them go, of course, but she gave them each what she called a “Boa Constrictor Hug.”

When the party was officially over, Jon and Martin made dinner while Willa kept playing with her new toys. When it was ready, Willa ate with voracity. 

“Did you have a good day today?” Martin asked her. 

She nodded emphatically, chewing on a piece of chicken. 

“What was the best part of today, Willa?” Jon said. 

She screwed up her face. “Ummmm…. All of it!” 

“It was all good?”

“Mhmm! The whole thing,” she said with a grin. 

Jon and Martin smiled back. 

They got ready for bed after dinner and spent some time in Willa’s room with her, talking and telling stories. Willa always begged Jon to sing her a song or tell her a story, and she begged Martin to read from her children’s poetry book. 

This time, after the stories and songs and poetry, Jon did not turn the light off and kiss her goodnight. This time, Jon pulled out a letter.

“Another letter?” Willa asked, sitting up slightly. Jon nodded, and settled beside her. 

“Dear Willa,” he began. “Seven already! My, how you’ve grown. I bet the time just flies. I wish I knew the types of things you like, if you like playing with dolls or puzzles or crayons.

“Since I don’t know what sort of things you like at seven, I’ll tell you what sort of things I liked at seven, sound good?”

Simone went on to tell Willa that she loved reading, and she talked about her favorite book series as a child (which Willa begged Martin to buy for her. He told her he had already bought it, and it was being delivered). She also wrote about the songs some of the older kids in her foster home at the time would sing, and how she loved to learn as many of them as she could. 

Willa was sniffling by the time the letter was finished, both her hands held in one of her fathers’. “Thank you, Daddy,” Willa said. Jon just nodded and kissed her forehead. 

“Would you like us to stay with you for a bit?” Martin offered, and Willa nodded. Jon and Martin laid down fully beside her and dimmed the lights, until only the green night light offered any illumination. 

Willa fell asleep fast, but Martin and Jon stayed with her for a few minutes more. When the crease between her eyebrows had evened out, and her breathing was quiet and steady, they left. 

Jon was getting ready for bed in the bathroom when Martin came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Jon’s waist. 

“Have you ever thought about having more kids?” He asked, pressing a kiss to Jon’s temple.

Jon smiled softly. “Sometimes,” He admitted. 

Martin looked at their reflections. “Really?”

Jon nodded. “Have you?”

Martin sighed. He was silent for a long moment. “Yeah. I have. Not… at length, but… sometimes,” he answered. 

“Do you want to talk about this more?” Jon asked. 

Martin’s brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Yeah. I think so,” he replied, and smiled. He tightened his arms around Jon’s middle, and Jon leaned back into the sturdy support of Martin’s chest. 

Jon knew Martin had some anxieties about adopting more kids. He had, in all likelihood, been anxious about even bringing it up with Jon. 

He understood. It was a big deal, and there was a lot to consider-- Willa, their schedules, their finances, whether they had enough space in their house-- 

This was not a small decision. 

Jon sighed. The future is uncertain. They don't know how their lives could change at the drop of a hat, how their entire world could be upended. But Jon had everything he needed, and with Martin and Willa by his side, he wasn’t scared. 

They’d be alright. They had each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Martin took Jon’s name when they got married because they wanted Willa’s name to match theirs, and if Jon took Martin’s last name then Willa’s full name would’ve been Willa Briar Sims Blackwood and that’s just too many names.
> 
> Also,,, we're done! We made it! It's been fun, i'll tell you what.   
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read, gave kudos, commented, and recommended this fic to their friends. I am very touched at how kind and supportive you all have been <3333
> 
> As far as my what I'm writing next, I'm working on two shorter ones that I will hopefully finish this or next week, so if you like my writing... keep an eye out? After that who knows, might fuck around and write another multi-chap au fic ahahaha... ha.... ha.   
> (I probably will do that :P)
> 
> once again, thank you all, and stay safe!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, and as per the uzhe, thanks for reading :)
> 
> At the time of posting this I have completed up to chapter 4, with chapter 5 in progress currently. I'll post chapter two sometime in the upcoming week probably, we'll see.
> 
> Stay safe everyone!


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